


After Winter Comes New Life with a New Chance

by Riznow



Series: Miraak/Ypsilon [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Dovahkiin, Other, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riznow/pseuds/Riznow
Summary: Ypsilon, The Last Dragonborn battles the First to protect Solstheim, but there are some... unexpected complications.  They take pity on the shell of a Dragon Priest, Miraak, and decide to save him. They can only hope they haven't made a terrible mistake. Lest they get stuck with not only a rogue Dragon Priest on their hands, but also a giant World Eating Dragon.Contains a lot of content regarding Skyrim's main plot, along with Dragonborn DLC plot. Most of it has a lot of spins on it, and of course I have my own theories, which will probably appear in the fic. It's also mostly fluffy and there's also some fights in it. Think romance, action, and adventure plot!





	1. At The Summit of Apocrypha

**Author's Note:**

> Finally around to posting this! I've had the first few chapters since March! I'm kind of afraid I make Miraak too sweet or soft or something, in all honesty, so please excuse my characterization! But now finally... I have a fic with[ my Dragonborn](http://palemance.tumblr.com/tagged/ypsilon) posted!! After months, huzzah.
> 
> My Dragonborn uses exclusively they/them pronouns and is nonbinary, so this isn't some kind of "interpret their gender how you like" thing. Please don't do that.

The smoggy green atmosphere of Apocrypha felt ridiculously humid and hot. The black, oily ocean bubbled and rippled, the winds were stale, yet whirlwinds passed over specific areas causing stray papers to flutter around. The walls were lined with scrolls and various books, but it honestly seemed like the walls were actually made out of the writings. The floor, was luckily more understandable. It was either stone or sometimes tightly woven lattice where you could see directly to the mucky abyss that waited beneath. The high arched labyrinths of books and tomes, and the numerous puzzles and general monstrosities seemed like all that Apocrypha had to give. The land was ever changing, sometimes the winding hallways rearranging themselves, sometimes the lattice floor retracting, or even sometimes the entire rooms and passageways were altered, which was a cause for confusion. This land, if you would even call it that, was the playground of a monster, a hideous beast, one of the many Daedric Princes. Hermaeus Mora, particularly.

The thought of Hermaeus Mora appearing right now made them shudder. As the cloaked and masked person darted in between hallways, careful not to trigger any traps, or create attention to themselves, they were pondering what they should be doing. Of course, the main thing that filled their mind was the fact that there were eyes and tentacles everywhere, lining the waters and the skies, but also the fact that they were probably about to partake in the hardest fight they would ever be in. A fight to the possible death against the First Dragonborn. That would go down in history, huh? Two dragon souls trapped in mortal coil and mortal body fight to the finish. They internally cringed, while they weren’t absolutely thrilled with what the First Dragonborn was up to, they wished they could have some type of conversation.

They moved with more urgency, coming to an opening in the never ending labyrinth. The clack of their boots on the lattice floor was loud and sharp, they were bound to attract Seekers at this rate… but none came, luckily. Things would go south extremely quick, they thought, two Dragonborns meeting like this? It seemed dangerous, not to mention that the both of them were probably both too full of themselves to lose. It was said that Dragonborns were naturally competitive, having the unavoidable urge to be in control, to have power. They wondered if that was just something that was weirdly glorified, they had no urge to have power or control, perhaps their energy was muted because being frozen and trapped in ice for so long. Perhaps it would be the same for the First Dragonborn, as he had been trapped in Apocrypha for who knows how long. Perhaps he could be- no. They scolded themselves. They needed to be prepared to fight, with little distraction from such intrusive thoughts. They needed to be ready.

They stood by the waters edge, for whatever reason this time, no tentacles lashed at their feet. Confused by this, they wheeled around when a massive dragon, grey and serpentine, with protruding teeth landed directly behind them. Its massive head tilted to peer at the Dragonborn, it gnashing its teeth slightly.

The dragons voice boomed. "Hail, thuri. Your thu'um has the mastery I have been seeking. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak."

They looked at the dragon in confusion, not uttering a word. The dragon didn’t seem to be faking. Perhaps? Something had changed in its soul, perhaps it had realized that they were the one that they were the one meant to fight Alduin? Or maybe that they were the Last Dragonborn. How strange, this was certainly one of Miraaks’ dragons. They stared at the water, thick and dark, and looked back to the dragon, it looked like the was no choice. Dovahzul, the language of dragons was not their forte. Although they didn’t know what “thuri” was, as they didn’t understand dragon tongue completely, they moved swiftly towards the dragon, placing a hand on the back of its neck and heaving themselves up to sit. Without a word, they gave the dragon a pat on the top of its head as a sign to start moving. It unfurled its massive wings and lifted off, high, high above the disgusting oily ocean, and trying to fly around the humongous tower of books that stretched as high as the eye could see.

 They flew quickly and quietly, with little interruption until they neared what looked like a huge temple rising out of the muck below. With their approach, a metallic, strangely accented voice rose from below.  "I always knew you were weak-minded, Sahrotaar."

Sahrotaar, the dragon, bared his oddly arranged teeth and growled at the owner of the voice as he landed, and the rider dismounted and stared directly at the owner of the voice. Miraak. Clad in dusky purple robes and adorned with an intricate mask, gauntlets, and armored boots, he stood there, as if there was absolutely no problem that his nemesis had just landed on his temple from the back of his own dragon. In fact, he seemed barely inconvenienced, his stance remaining cool and calm. Two other dragons, who were originally perched on arches alongside the temples grounds flared their wings, one taking to the wind, while the other looked expectantly at Miraak. 

Miraak stepped forward towards the masked adventurer, the adventurer held their ground. “Before we do battle, I may warn you that the winner of this fight will become Hermaeus Mora’s newest protege.” his voice was cold, disconnected. “However, fate decrees that you have to die so that I may win my freedom, so I am afraid I cannot let you win this.”

The Last Dragonborn did not speak, did not respond to his words. His mask betrayed no reaction to the fact that he didn’t seem to get a rise out of the Last Dragonborn. He pulled his sword from its sheath at his side, and immediately, boomed out the shout “ _YOL TOOR SHUL_ ”, causing an eruption of flame to surge directly towards the Last Dragonborn. They expertly dodged out of the way, unsheathing the steel blade they kept on their back.

And thus the fight began…

…………

The fight had raged on for quite a while now, both parties heaving out their breath. The Last Dragonborn was taking cover, a more defensive position as they desperately healed their wounds, dodging his shouts and spells, meanwhile laying out a few runes for him to hurt himself upon. Miraak was unrelenting still, despite his weakened state, his robes were torn in a few locations, his mask starting to show a bit of marks and dents in the pristine golden surface. His shouts had become less frequent, his thu’um sounding more raspy, the bursts of flame and force of the shouts becoming much more weaker and diluted.

“Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn." he scolded, once again, responded to with silence.

And the Last Dragonborn hadn’t used any of their shouts once. That angered him. How had such a half-baked Dragonborn without any shouts even gotten to this point in battle with him? Impossible! blasphemy! Was it luck? Was Herma-Mora playing a role in this? He watched as the Last Dragonborn darted behind another pillar, seeming like they were trying to bide time. From the strikes earlier put on him, the force of the blade and the aggression, he would’ve said that their efforts were commendable…however, they were still falling short.

He heard a cracking noise and noticed as the lattice-floor behind the column in which the Dragonborn was hiding behind give out and fall into the deep abyss below. Triumphantly, he wondered if they had fallen through, he rushed forward, blade drawn, coming around the corner of the column, only to find the Dragonborn stuck, right leg dangling off through the hole, their whole body off balance and close to the ground. 

“How pitiful.” He growled. “ Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know. And yet, we both knew who the victor would have been…” He raised his sword, ready to do the finishing strike. “Do you have any last words? Any final parting wishes?” He expected them to finally crack, to spit insults in his direction, to just hear anything.

And yet, the Dragonborn remained silent, still. They looked up at him, their mask as well betraying no signs of emotion or fear or anything, and he felt anger boiling in his chest. “Why don’t you speak?!” he demanded, his control on his emotion releasing as the fight had gone on for far too long, and yet he hadn’t heard a word, a cry of pain, nothing. “Are you not afraid!? You say you are _dov,_ it’s our inherent nature to shout and speak.”

No response, and he hesitated for a moment, wondering why. Why? He would never know. It made no sense. What were the Greybeards teaching Dragonborn these days? Peace? Silence? None of them talked, anyways, he doubted that would change over the years. He shook himself of his hesitation, and swung his sword down, and their form shattered completely.

He blinked in shock, and within that split second, something whizzed by his face, and he moved out of the way, only to have another arrow lodge itself directly into his gut, followed by another that pierced through the fabric along his neck, creating a small scratch along the side of his neck. He let out a startled noise of pain. This fight had been a waiting game, he had been played. The Last Dragonborn crouched on the other side of the temple on top of the rubble from a broken column, bow in hand, their hand upon the quiver. He stumbled backward a bit, the shock catching him off guard, but his foot caught on a spell that had been laid behind him. A rune, he thought, his mind became panicked as the rune exploded underneath him, shards of ice tearing at his already ragged robes, the freezing cold seeping through his skin. He let out a string of curses and fell to his knees. The silence, that... cleverness, the fact that they had successfully left that spot and hidden amongst the rubble… He scolded himself angrily. So close to freedom, so close… And put down by a masked Dragonborn who would not give him the pleasure of getting riled up from his venomous words.

Hermaeus Mora’s horrific visage appeared in the center of the temple, its eye trained directly on Miraak, but Miraak was sure that the Last Dragonborn was caught in its horrible gaze as well. His breath hitched, knowing this was it.

“Miraak…” the daedric beasts’ voice drawled, low and condescending. “You have once served me well… but it seems that your abilities fall ever so short…”

The long, oily green tentacles that surrounded the mass of eyes and smog rushed towards Miraak, who stayed on his knees, knowing there was nothing he could do. Despite the rush, when the tentacles got close enough to his mask, they slowed, pressing gingerly towards where his temples would be located from inside the layer of gold. He knew Mora would easily kill him painfully and he couldn’t think into why the sudden gentleness, but he didn’t dare move.

“First… we must strip you of your immortality… there is nothing that can be done if you still have that…”

And it was as if an electric shock was forced directly into his brain by those tentacles. He let out a genuine cry of pain, searing and bright that all he saw was complete white. A thump sounded in his chest, the pulsation beginning again, and he felt as if a huge weight was just lowered onto his shoulders. Alongside, the pain he felt a slimy prodding mentally and before he completely shut his eyes, he noticed the Dragonborn moving towards the two, slowly and cautiously. The slimy prodding became more of a tug, as it was as if the immortal aspect of him was truly being torn out, and yet, with the sudden regain of his mortality, the sudden thrum in his chest, blood coursing through his veins, and the sudden roaring and growing of the dragon soul within him, suddenly he was very, very much alive again. Within him, a flare of sympathy appeared. The Last Dragonborn was to be a pawn to this monstrosity, just as he had been. He had been foolish enough to consider himself and Herma-Mora equals, yet his arrogance shrouded the truth. Now he was, about to be killed in front of his successor. He scowled from behind his mask, rage far from diminishing.

“And now… for that mortal life of yours…” the voice became unexpectedly harsh and loud, as if his mind was full of it.

He prepared himself for the electric shock to flow back into him, and he felt like the world was crackling around him, but suddenly he heard a loud slashing noise of a sword directly in front of him, and the tentacles hitting the floor with a forceful, heavy smack. Hermaeus Mora let out an inhuman screech, layered with screeches of different pitches and tones, and once again, Miraak could see.

The Last Dragonborn stood directly in front of him, poised to attack Herma-Mora, the string of their bow pulled back taut. “You DARE DEFY ME?” Hermaeus Mora boomed, thrashing its tentacles, the ones severed seemingly instantly replaced. “You are foolish, I am everywhere, I am fate… Many have resisted me, yet I have broken them all.”

The Dragonborn did not react, their stance calm and they didn’t spare a moment before the arrow flew directly towards Mora’s eye, which closed reflexively, but got pierce, the eye fading from existence, the tentacles lashed and screeches were released from an unseen maw. The Dragonborn, whirled around to face Miraak, who was still on his hands and knees. His stomach lurched, and then the Dragonborn grabbed him, easily wrapping their arms underneath his armpits to get him to his feet. Miraak stumbled somewhat.

 "What are you doing?” Miraak demanded. “You cannot defy him, it’s impossible!” He wasn’t sure what he was feeling now, his emotions swung and flared as the Dragonborn held him, raising a glowing hand above them.

A teleportation spell? Did they not know that that would not work for Apocrypha? No, no, there was something not quite right about it, it felt like it was Daedric magic. Ugh. He would rather not die more painfully than he was already going to go, as the Dragonborn would get him into more trouble at this point. From the dissipation of his plans, he was now stressfully aware of the fact that there was no running from Mora. The teleportation spell flashed, resonating like a normal spell, not petering out before dissipating, and the world around them flashed and changed and all he felt was a blinding light and then nothingness…

Miraak had finally dreamed for the first time in forever. While within Apocrypha, his sleep was dark and dreamless, and he never felt rested ever. He didn’t need to sleep, and he barely did so, but when he did he would feel extraordinarily sick. But, now his dreams were alive, and although not vibrant, they certainly were more than what he was used to. Somewhere along the line, he felt as if his dream had changed quickly, and he noticed another person moving amongst the foliage within this dream land. He couldn’t see a thing, the sky far too bright, however, he noticed hedges of roses rising up beside him. He watched as the other person in his dream said something to a rather tall and blue-cloaked figure, bowing at the shape, before taking a respectful step back. The person came forth to him and he stared at them, confused by their strange appearance. Bright, blue lines patterned their face, and their eyes were pale, blind. 

And then, Miraak opened his eyes, and all was darkness. Until he blinked a couple times from behind his mask, he realized that that was the sunlight shining through the cave opening and directly on to his face. He was bleary eyed and tired, his body was unimaginably heavy, but he took one deep breath and realized that the air was clean, and alive, not of Apocrypha. Although, it was ashy and smokey, but still much better. What a relief… he had never thought he’d be back in the fresh air. He gazed around his environment, he was resting on a fur bedroll, his sword and staff messily leaning against the wall. He checked himself, making sure he was still fully armored and robed, and his hands flew up to his mask, and everything except his weapons was still on his person.

His mind still felt cloudy and confused, and he tried to recount what had just occurred. The Last Dragonborn and him had fought to what was supposed to be the death, and last minute they had stopped Hermaeus Mora from killing him. That fool, he thought. He didn’t understand this Dragonborn, yet… A small voice in the back of his mind told him that the Dragonborn had _rescued him_ for whatever reason. Suddenly he felt a surge of guilt, but it was quickly calmed. Why feel guilty for someone else’s mistake? Now he was free again and… well, at least he was pleased by that. There was a noise from the outside of the cave, and his body tensed up.

Miraak was in no condition to stand, but he readied a spell in his right hand in case things were about to get ugly. The crackling in his hand made his nervousness accelerate, and he quickly made the change to a fireball instead of using electricity. He would get back into the sway of lightning spells after the thought of Mora left him for a bit.

There was a shuffling noise, and then the sight of familiar armor came into sight and ducked into the cave to join him. He let out an annoyed huff. The Last Dragonborn, of course. Who else would it be? The Dragonborn came towards him, looking down on him, their mask gave no emotion, but it seemed like… curiosity? He grimaced under his own mask, and felt pitiful and annoyed as the Dragonborn stood over him.

“What, have you come to laugh? To ridicule me?” he demanded, but was suddenly hushed by the Dragonborns strange movements.

A light golden glow appeared from their hand, spinning in an orb of light, and he watched as the masked adventurer reached around him, pressing it into his neck. He let out a light cough, this was all too much. He didn’t need to be babied, or healed. He didn’t need to walk Nirn’s surface because of this fool... Although… it was the freedom he wanted so much. It took him a moment to realize that the Dragonborn had just healed the neck wound that they had created the fight before. He felt the wound close up, the warmth of the healing light warming his skin and getting his blood pumping into the spot. He felt his heartbeat again, and was frankly disgusted by this. There was too much things occuring and they were all overwhelming his senses.

“Why?!” he asked again, annoyed about not getting an answer, but his feelings of anger were muted. Confusion, amongst gratefulness and some other warm feeling he couldn’t place was all he felt now. Along with curiosity. This was so odd… He went to sit up, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Wait! Don’t sit up you’re injured.” suddenly, this new voice hit his ears, and his heart skipped a beat, and he froze. It trailed off as if the Dragonborn had realized what they just did.

“So now you drop the silence.” Miraak said coldly, but the voice added towards his curiosity. Most likely something having to do with his dragon soul getting over excited to be in the presence of someone so extremely similar. “Why? Tell me why you made these rash decisions.”

The masked Dragonborn hesitated for a moment, as if caught off guard. “I didn’t want to see you die.” they said, plain and simple.

“Didn’t want to see me die?” he echoed. “You… I… I would’ve killed you. Why save me, when I would’ve just taken your life to gain my own freedom?”

“You hesitated.” they stated, once again very plain and very simple.

Then, he hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. Part of him wanted to flaunt himself, to use harsh words, but once again, he stopped himself. He still couldn’t understand. “That’s no excuse! You are _so confusing._ ” He said. “Do you not realize that you have sicked a daedra on you for the rest of your life? One that you cannot escape? Not to mention, you have dragged me into your quarrel with Mora out of pity.”

“I didn’t really think it through at the time,” they admitted, their shoulders falling slightly. “But I have dealt with the daedra many times before, and I’ve evaded them all. Or at least, I’m still trying to they… really really like to meddle. And I saved your life! I’m sorry if you didn’t want to be saved, but I… I guess I didn’t think that was a fair death. It seems like you died twice. I don’t know what your plans are and I know we’re technically enemies, but let’s just say Daedric Princes don’t bring the best out in people.” they turn away from him. “If you were to die, I’d never know the whole story, nor meet another Dragonborn again.”

Guilt filled him and he felt his stomach drop. This was truly surprising, and yet, he felt like he still didn’t understand. The Last Dragonborn had just technically sacrificed more of themselves for him than he originally perceived. That they planned to run? It was so peculiar, yet the fact that they seemed so determined that they could outrun the Daedric Lord of Fate itself was so assuring and confident. It must be the dragon soul that they had. He could sense it, coming of of them in waves, and he felt a resonance between their two souls. It disgusted him in a way, he was playing tug-of-war with two different opinions. One being that he was absolutely angered by another Dragonborn in his presence and he perceived them as a challenge. The other being the small voice in the back of his mind telling him that he desperately wanted someone to understand him. What a nightmare.

“I was going to leave Solstheim in a few days, I think all the ash and decay is starting to go to my head. I can leave you here with some supplies if you want, but after that that’s probably the last you’ll see of me.” they got to their feet and started to fiddle with a knapsack and rolling up their bedroll into a tight bundle. “Then you can finally be rid of me. And I can be rid of you. However, if you start to create issues on Solstheim, you can bet I’ll be here to put a stop to you.”

Miraak felt another twinge of guilt, a twinge of irritation, however he was quick to shake it off. Did he detect reluctance in their voice? He stared at them, they wore a mask, just like him, but he wondered what for. They were certainly no Dragon Priest. Perhaps they were disfigured, or they were on the run. Hiding their identity? He watched them pack their things, seperating a few things, a tinderbox, some food, these things probably meant for him. They silently passed them to him, heaving their pack to their shoulders and headed toward the cave opening.

“Dragonborn, wait.” his voice rang and they turned to look at him. “I will go with you. I still intend to speak with you. You claim you want the whole story, however, I doubt you’ll get that by leaving.” He was making bargains here, and he hoped they were heading to Skyrim, he was certainly curious of its state. He didn’t expect them to say yes at all. A swift breeze pushed through the cavern as he waited with bated breath. He wanted to take it back, instantly, but he heaved himself to his feet, slowly, trying to seem less pitiful from being on the floor.

The Last Dragonborn was quiet for a moment. “Really…?” their voice was confused, but then was replaced with a softer, mellow tone. “And you keep saying I’m confusing… But you can come with me… uh.. Just be aware that I’m keeping an eye on you, I’m not sure I trust you to not stab me in the back with a dagger or something…”

“That is reciprocated, Dragonborn, as I do not trust you enough to ensure that I won’t get another arrow to the throat.”

The Last Dragonborn nodded thoughtfully, and he went to roll up his bedroll when he heard them clear their throat. “Uhh one question though. You call me ‘Dragonborn’ and you want me to recognize you as true Dragonborn. Why call me that then?”

“Ah…” he murmured, he actually wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was too avoid their name? Avoid personal things. “Names are power, but if you’re willing to share...”

“Ypsilon.” they said, their voice thoughtful. “My name is Ypsilon.”

“Pleasure.” he said blankly mind deep in thought, but in the meantime, he felt as if their souls had connected ever so slightly, their soul slightly more open towards his.

While dragons had their shouts and fights, perhaps it was the job of two dragon-souled people to have a silent connection that emanated from within their very being.


	2. House of Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That feel when you go home with your enemy and you have no idea what to do so you just try to be really nice even if it kills you.

Only about one day had passed when the two rounded the steep rocky cliffs to Raven Rock, the small Dunmer settlement that was surrounded by nothing but ash and ocean. The sun was shrinking behind the horizon, dusk was falling, and there was less and less light. Regardless of this change, the town remained slightly active, as guards dressed in the yellowed Bonemold armor patrolled the bulwark and roads, meanwhile various residents were heading over to the small frontier towns’ local tavern. As the sun settled, it felt like so did the ash, and everything else in the world. 

Ypsilon stood staring directly towards the arching gateway to the town, unsure of their next move. They wondered if people would recognize Miraak, he was definitely not the most inconspicuous guy, and was afraid what would happen if they got stopped. A villainous Dragon Priest that had been causing ruin to their island was certainly not welcome in their town, and it was most likely that the people wouldn’t believe them if they explained Miraak to be mostly Mora’s pawn. Although, admittedly, Miraak’s personality and seemingly lack of care for people that were not of his cult were not in his favor. He was treacherous and unpredictable thus far, and  _ had  _ been a villain.

Their thoughts were interrupted by his voice from directly behind them. “Are we on the way in or will we just stand here until we get consumed by the ashen wastes?” his metallic voice was teasing and they were unsure if he was taunting them or not. 

“Well, if you want to get caught by guards, be my guest!” they protested, this needed a delicate touch. “When I first came here and asked them about you, they all knew your name but could not place a face or anything to it!! Because you oh… I don’t know, kept them in a sleepwalking trance and told them to build your shrines…?”

“The shrines are to be left in the past as they are no more.” he said coldly. “I no longer need them to build a bridge between two worlds, so I am sure Mora has purged it from their minds.”

“Hmm…” they pondered aloud. “Let’s sneak around back, just for safety. I’m sure that Mora would go out of his way to hurt your chances of getting back to safety. Cutting you off from the only civilization that could get you off the island would be in his plans. My home is a bit of a ways in, you can follow me.” 

Ypsilon headed past the bulwark, however, they slipped easily onto the docks via a smaller alleyway. The guards didn’t seem to question them, and a couple even greeted them, however, there was no recognition of Miraak. The water rocked the wooden dock a bit, and the sound of the water lapping was somewhat calming. It was easy enough to duck back onto the main road of Raven Rock via another alleyway, and dart past any guards towards the door to the house tucked against the rocky formations that bordered the town.

“Here we are! Let me unlock it… here!” they pulled the key from their satchel and it clicked in the lock, they called into the house, which was dimly lit, but warm. “Teldryn! I’m home! You’re home right?”

“Ah, back so soon?” A wavering voice rang from the seating next to the cooking fire, relieving them. “I hope you brought back some treasure to share...”

“Of course, Teldryn!” Ypsilon chimed, moving with much more vigor than before, closing the door behind Miraak as he stepped in. “I’ll unpack and settle down and then I’ll pass you your share!”

They were relieved Teldryn was well and that he hadn’t wandered out when they returned. Teldryn was a sellsword, hero for hire. Or mercenary if you paid him that way. He was a wanderer, and had lived pretty much everywhere, he would tell amazing stories of Morrowind and Skyrim. He was interesting; a well versed traveler and sword user, and luckily, he too was not fond of showing his face. Sometimes he’d remove his helmet, but never ever in public.

It seemed this house was full of people who desired to be faceless.

Ypsilon dropped their bags against the railing of the staircase, careful to not damage any of the goods. They plucked a smaller satchel filled with gold coins, gems and trinkets that they had carefully separated for Teldryn. He may of been a sellsword, but Teldryn had became a friend over time, and always joined up with them for free, but still, Ypsilon paid him for his time and made sure that their partnership was worthwhile. They passed the bag to him, giving it a light toss to which he easily caught. Suddenly, Ypsilon became hyper aware of Miraak standing behind them, he was shifting foot to foot as if uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to want to sit down or anything.  

“Thanks for the pay.” Teldryn said, “but if I may ask… who is that you have brought home with you.” There was a tone of almost threatened confusion.

“Oh!” Ypsilon gasped. They really hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, explaining it would be hard. Perhaps Teldryn would let it slide, but at the same time maybe not… “Well… this is Miraak, he’s… with me.” They weren’t sure how to describe him at all.

Teldryn stiffened. “That name… where have I heard it before…” he seemed to be deep in thought. “Miraak…” 

Ypsilon felt a flare up of energy off Miraak from behind them, why that was, they had no idea, perhaps he was irritated with the whole situation? Or maybe he was upset. They weren’t sure why, but when Teldryn lowered his shoulders in defeat, the energy relaxed and so did Ypsilon. 

“I cannot place that name... “ Teldryn mumbled, turning back to the table and spilling out the gold and gems and beginning to count. “Perhaps that is a good thing.”

Ypsilon gave a light laugh. “Yeah…” they said, actually really worried. Miraak had not uttered a word the entire time. They knew Miraak had been up to things, and they didn’t want to be considered the same as him, or with the same motives. Then again, they didn’t even know his motives exactly. He wanted freedom sure, but they didn’t know much else than that. He’d wanted to conquer Solstheim? That was a pretty bad thing. 

They let out a light sigh before moving towards the staircase that went to the basement level that had all the rooms lining the hall. “Miraak, you can come with me…” they said, gently, as they began to descend. 

Miraak followed in tow, he clearly didn’t try to oppose them whenever they said anything, but they also weren’t sure what to do. They opened the door and went on into a guestroom that was conjoined with a small garden and the kitchen supplies. There were candles lining the walls, and Ypsilon took a seat at a small table made of light grey wood that almost blended in with the stony walls. The table was already set, likely by Teldryn, with food plates with grilled ash hopper and cooked ash yams…  So much ash. They were more than ready to return to Skyrim and get a better meal of meat rather than ashy bugs and ashy sweet potatoes! They weren’t one for alcohol, so the Sujamma that was bottled on the table was likely going to go untouched. They gestured to the seat across from them, to which Miraak took his seat, extremely hesitant. They could understand why, the two of them were just enemies, and the fact that they were being so casual towards him was most likely off-putting. Dinner with a Demon. Or, actually, more correctly, the unwilling servant of one.

They propped themselves up on their hands, looking at him expectantly. “Did you eat in Apocrypha?” they asked, curiously.

Miraak stayed quiet for a moment, and right as Ypsilon thought that their words were landing on deaf ears, he began to speak slowly. “No I did not. Such mortal things were not part of my daily life.” he said, the metallic ring to his voice almost gone because he was speaking quietly. “If you could call that being “life”.”

“Oh… That sounds awful…” they said, just as quiet. “So you didn’t need to eat, drink, or sleep? Or was your body actually… dead…?” They felt like they wouldn’t get anywhere with asking such personal questions to a man who was just their enemy a couple nights ago.

“I simply required none of those things, whether it was because my body was dead or perhaps… frozen.” Every word he said was well thought out and sounded like he was being meticulous. Maybe he didn’t want to share too much?

“Oh frozen, really? That’s interesting.” they mused, thinking about this long and hard.

Miraak, despite not having his face visible seemed to be eyeing them with curiosity. Or maybe for the half-hearted response.

They pondered for a moment longer, before shaking themselves. “Oh, uh!! Since you haven’t eaten in a bit, would you like to eat this?” they offered. “Teldryn’s not the best cook, but it’s something to eat! And if you ever need any food we always do have a lot of ash yams, meats, and some sweets, too!”

“I will take you up on your offer in due time.” Miraak said, making no movements to eat, or to remove his mask to eat for that matter. Ypsilon wondered if he was even considered healthy, and they mused over the thought of how eating would even go for him.

And then there was silence again. Miraak had rested his chin on his fist, elbow on the table, and was either looking at Ypsilon, or straight through them. There was a strange intensity to it, and although they wanted to somewhat get out of the way, they felt compelled to sit and relax, fingers rubbing on the wood resin that sat on the table. By the Eight, was this guy always like this! Well… then again, these certainly weren’t his glory days. 4,000 years gave a lot of change to mannerisms perhaps… it reminded them of themselves from their past when…They shook themselves out of unpleasant thoughts. They decided against eating. 

They rose quietly and Miraak’s gaze seemed to follow them when they moved towards the door. “I was planning on returning to Skyrim tomorrow at the break of dawn, so we should probably get sleep… I’m not sure what to do with you, so you’re coming with me so you don’t create havok here. Better keep an eye on you. Oh, Miraak, I would give you that bed,” they said, gesturing to Teldryns bed within the guestroom. “But it’s our friend upstairs bed… Although I can let you take mine, it’s in a different room…”  

They tried to gesture at him to follow, which he complacently did, his pace slow and Ypsilon realized that his slow pace and quietness and perhaps even his strange obedience was because he was probably tired. They went back to the hallway and went to the end of it, pushing open two heavy doors revealing a room with a table, some chests, a bookshelf, mannequins with armor displays, and bed dead center, headboard against the curving sloping walls. 

“Dragonborn, I won’t take your bed.” he said. “I’m no guest.”

“No, no, it’s fine! Really! I was planning to do some studying and magic tonight, so I won’t be needing it!” Ypsilon chimed, hoping he didn’t ask about what they would study. They wanted to read up on him, honestly, but they wondered how much they could find out of their limited selection. “If you want you can take the right side, I don’t sleep on that side, so… it’s probably cleaner and doesn’t smell like me...”

Miraak let out a tsk noise as if he was disapproving of the situation, but Ypsilon realized that they probably misunderstood him. He bowed his head slightly in a nod. “... Thank you…” it took him a moment to say, but the words seemed genuine, the only thing that rung sweetly in the metallic voice he had, they involuntarily made a small smile from behind their mask. The were glad that he couldn’t see past it and they bowed their head at him, and then quickly excused themselves out, closing the doors behind them.

Their heart thumped in their chest really hard as they blew what air was left in their lungs out their nose, letting out a deep sigh after they wandered away from the door, moving towards the chest filled with books in the nearby alchemy room. They were really losing their touch, huh? They quickly changed their direction and snatched a few of the ingredients off the counter and shelves. Frost salts, ice wraith teeth, and snowberries. They expertly ground these all up together, creating a shimmery silvery and red solution, pouring it into an empty vial that they had left nearby. 

Their quick paced heartbeat slowed a bit, and they lifted their mask and drank the potion gladly, feeling the cold temperature emanating from their light blue facial patterns and eyes pulsate and become a steady chill that made them feel much better. They lowered their mask back down, once again turning their attention to the chest of books, fingering through the copies. There was nothing too remarkable, nothing that would have historical information, but then they struck gold. They had luckily a book on Solstheim’s history, and another on all Dragon Priests, so hopefully this would contain information on him, or at least the very least have mentions of him…It was probable that he was purged from all history.  

They picked up these two books and moved towards the fur pile that they had near the leather working area and took a seat on the very top of said fur pile. Heck, they could sleep here if they wanted. It was in that moment that Teldryn came down the stairs, also heading to bed, he gave them a salute with his right hand and slipped into the guestroom. “Night…” he hissed, his footsteps fading out once the doors closed behind him. 

“Goodnight!” they whispered after him. 

After getting comfortable in the fur pile, they flipped open the history book and began to skim, hoping that Miraak would be completely asleep soon and wouldn’t rummage through their things or something like that. They hoped that they hadn’t made a totally bad decision…


	3. Passage Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howdy my name is Risa and I like to break apart lore and then put it back together, securing it together via my shitty headcanons.

It was morning, and Ypsilon could only tell by the faint smell of fresh food. They blinked, wondering how long they had slept for or if it was just their imagination. They felt tired and heavy and they shifted amongst the comfortable furs, some of it feeling too warm against their skin. The leathers stuck to them lightly as they got off the pile and they tried to locate the book amongst it. They patted their hands, feeling a hard surface, and snatched up the book, which hopefully was undamaged. Their mind was swimming with the history that they’d just read up on, and they weren’t sure how to feel about it. It was certainly… something…

The book hadn’t gone into too much depth, but at least whatever scholar who wrote it was able to cover some of what they needed to know. No specifics, sadly, Ypsilon wanted to know more, but they thought their curiosity would have to be sated through direct conversation with Miraak. Ypsilon shuddered at the thought. A lot of the content was worrying.

During the period in time when dragons ruled over mortals, Miraak served as the Dragon Priest for Solstheim. While dragons ruled over the mortals, Dragon Priests were the secondary command, despite having no power over dragons and all the power over the other humans. Considering Solstheim being a small island, it made sense that he was the only Dragon Priest on the island, but it was still strange to consider. Mainly because they wondered whether he was a Dunmer or a Nord? Was he even around when Dunmer were?

Aside from that, eventually he had somehow gotten his hands on a _Black Book,_ a tome containing incredibly dangerous knowledge as well as being a gateway to Hermaeus Mora’s realm. Mora had given him the knowledge and taught him the means to great power, a shout that was capable of bending anything and anyone to his will.   

Ypsilon found this hard to believe that the man who had just quietly complied with them to sleep in their bed was a power obsessed control freak. 

Over time Miraak used the shout and power that Mora had given him to rebel against the Dragons, and would kill them, devouring their souls to gain more power and became the First Dragonborn… It was also written that the ancient Nord heroes that attempted to slay Alduin, the all powerful dragonlord, had pleaded with Miraak to use his power as Dragonborn to defeat the deity, but he didn’t want any of it and attempted his own rebellion on his own before the dragons set fire to his temple and sent another Dragon Priest on his tail. Apparently said Dragon Priest was Vahlok the Jailor, whom Ypsilon had previously encountered and defeated while exploring an ancient tomb… 

Of course, Ypsilon had probably fought Vahlok at his weakest state since the ancient priest was little more than an emaciated, corpse-like wraith, but then they came to the realization of what it meant for Miraak. Upon being defeated it was theorized that Hermaeus Mora quickly came to his aid, teleporting him to the realm of Apocrypha, where Miraak would be for many, many years. Somehow Vahlok was able to confine Miraak to Solstheim alone in that time, and then was meant to remain vigilant until his next return… 

Well, Vahlok certainly was vigilant because his corpse decided to start flying and use fire spells at them when Ypsilon went traipsing into his tomb looking for adventure. With Vahlok absolutely gone, that meant Miraak was free to leave Solstheim upon his own free will, and go to Skyrim… aka. Dragon War World, currently.  

Ypsilon slapped themselves mentally and hoped that he wasn’t tailing them to Skyrim to snag some dragon souls and reinstate himself as ruler of Solstheim all over again, or something like that. Hopefully that wasn’t the case, but the biting anxiety was enough to concern them. They were deep in thought until Teldryn rounded the corner of the hallway and peered at them. 

“Are you actually awake?” he asked, sounding confused. “The sun is almost at its highest point in the sky.”

Ypsilon shook themselves and got to their feet, clutching the book in their hands. “I’m awake, yeah, Teldryn.” they said, looking around the room to get their bearings. “Me and Miraak will be heading out to Skyrim today, so you want to hold down the fort here?”

“Of course, the pleasure is all mine.” Teldryn murmured, well aware that this arrangement will allow him to literally just lie around the house and do his own thing in private. He had no objections! Ypsilon nodded at him and then Teldryn returned to his business. 

Ypsilon decided to simply slump back into the furs and bit their lips. They felt guilty for not actually killing Miraak, considering the incidents with the Skaal. In the same vein, they weren’t sure if they actually could. They were no killer, however… they supposed if it came down to it and he endangered anyone they’d definitely have to. Their mind drifted to Frea and they felt another bit of guilt descend upon them. They let out a low sigh, and they opted to just write a letter. They’d get Teldryn to take it to the Skaal, explaining a bit what happened. 

They hopped down from the furs, moving into a different room to grab hold of some paper, a quill, and ink, settling in a chair to quickly write. They began to write as kind a letter as possible, detailing that they were leaving. They felt unable to face the Skaal, and they’d rather not lie, either. They gave their condolences for the loss of their Shaman, wishing them luck and also particularly Frea on her new role in the village. They began to write vaguely about Apocrypha, however, they did state that the issue was taken care of, that Miraak wouldn’t bother them again. It wasn’t a lie, but they were unable to predict the future so they decided that would suffice. Letting out a sigh, they folded the note neatly and darted out towards wherever Teldryn had ventured off to.

He had simply gone upstairs and was sitting by the fire comfortably, and they walked over to him, kneeling next to him. He looked up at them questioningly and they hoped their body language conveyed that it was nothing too pressing. They couldn’t smile from behind their mask, however, neither could he!  

“Whenever you head out do you think you could deliver this to the Skaal?” they asked, tilting their head questioningly. Wow, the fire was really warm, not to mention the air was already warm. Teldryn was like a lizard on a heat rock.  

Teldryn leans back relaxedly. “Hm…For a price I certainly can.”

Ypsilon lets out a light sigh, however, they’re not objecting. “And how much is that price?” they ask, but then they’re off-put by Teldryn’s cough-like laughter from behind his mask.

“No, no- I’m just pulling your leg.” he laughs. “I’ll have it delivered whenever I go out there. No need to pay for something so menial, friend.”

Ypsilon lets out another sigh, this time a relieved one. “Jeez, Teldryn, you had me worried there.” they laugh a bit. “But thank you, I wish you safe travels, friend.”

Teldryn nods. “As to you too.” he replies. “Farewell, and whenever you come back to Raven Rock be sure to come on some dungeon delving with me.”

They nod and get to their feet, going back towards the staircase that led to the rest of the house. “Thank you, and absolutely. You can count on us going to get all that good money and loot!” 

“That’s music to my ears.” Teldryn drawls, shifting to get closer to the fire. 

Relieved that that was taken care of and this wouldn’t come back to bite them in their butt, they went towards their room, unsure of whether to knock or not, politely deciding upon just knocking and entering, it was their room after all. They quietly let themselves in, peeking around to see where Miraak was, and not finding him. They were somewhat bewildered, but then the light sound of footsteps rang from alongside the area of the room that was hidden from sight by the pillars and he appeared from that area. They hoped he hadn’t touched any of their stuff…

“You weren’t touching my stuff were you!” they said, somewhat accusatory. 

Miraak seemed taken aback at first, and instantly sounded extremely offended. “I have little desire to rummage through any of your substandard belongings.” 

Ypsilon felt offense rise up in their chest and they paused quietly to breath out a heaving sigh before moving back towards the door. “Pack your things, whatever those things are, we’re leaving in a bit.” They weren’t going to feed into this, not in the mood to shoot back insults with a stupid ex-dragon-cultist.

Maybe it was him being tired that made him so tolerable earlier, they thought, irritated, as they grabbed their pack and headed towards the front door. They wanted to follow him around to make sure that he wasn’t rummaging, unlike he said, but then the same metallic footsteps were heard and he was following them again.

“Ready?” they asked him, frowning from behind their mask. 

He nodded slightly and Ypsilon swung open the door and welcomed the sun directly into their eyes. It was harsh, and honestly a bit too much for their sensitive eyes. The sun shone brightly and the ash, which was lightish grey reflected the light and gods, did it hurt. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust and then they headed towards the docks, being sure to wave at the various townsfolk they had befriended or at the very, very least become acquainted with. 

They passed through town without being stopped because of their strange follower, and as soon as they hit the docks, they felt the wobbling of the waves bashing up against the wood, and they internally cringed a little bit. The ocean here was scary, it had big waves that threatened to capsize every boat, and it was almost always choppy. As the two of them stepped onto the boat, the captain of the boat had exited the covered area with the small cabins and storage closets and walked towards them briskly.

The bearded man glared at both Ypsilon and Miraak, but then bowed his head slightly. “Payment for passage?” 

“Here, for the both of us,” Ypsilon said, passing him a small sack of gold with 400 on the inside. “We’ll be taking the cabin downstairs for the passage.” they said this assuredly, and quickly hustled downstairs, where Miraak followed them as if he could not separate from them. 

“We’ll be leaving within the hour!” The captain called, the two were quickly out of earshot. He gave a crooked smile to himself, this was double the times of the normal rate. Probably to soften the deal and give them the cabin without complaint. He was of course, not complaining.  

As soon as Ypsilon got through the cabin door, they dropped their knapsack on the floor and shut the door once Miraak was clear of it. In a huff, they moved straight towards the bed, and splayed on top of it, not caring if he was watching, and… he definitely was! They could feel the area his eyes were at like they were cinders burning into them, and they just really wanted to be alone, they wanted to figure everything out. How could some stupid, inconsiderate… UGH. First Dragonborn be anything that those books said. They doubted it, they personally didn’t care. But the fact that this was also the guy that all other Dragonborns were forced to have as a predecessor pissed them off. Why didn’t he kill Alduin? He could’ve done it and would’ve spared them the job. Now their life which was already messed up and not as calm as they’d like it to be was messed up technically because they just so happened to be born as a Dov, and that this idiot could’ve finished the Dragonborn legacy right then and there, and also would’ve technically become ruler of whatever he wanted. He Would’ve Just Killed The All Powerful World Eater, Alduin. All these emotions stirred within them, causing the dragon that resided within their soul to growl and seeth. Not only just these, but also that they didn’t want to get knocked around in the waves, either. 

The room had become a lot more intense suddenly, and Ypsilon sat up, their blood boiling as they stared down Miraak, who stood close to the door, looking like he would bolt. He may be masked, but it always somehow gave him a constant startled expression or annoyed expression. They couldn’t put their finger on why it felt like this. 

“Why didn’t you kill Alduin?” they demanded, tense.

“Did you read up on your history, Dovahkiin…? I have my reasons.” He muttered, and that was it. That was his full answer. 

“And…? You do know I’m the one destined to kill Alduin! Why didn’t you do it? You could’ve oh, I don’t know become some kind of hero-god type thing? What kind of power did you need? You trapped yourself on Solstheim because of some failed rebellion, and I even killed Vahlok for you, that’s how you’re leaving now!” they weren’t demanding his gratefulness, and despite the aggression of their words, their voice managed to stay low and even the whole way through. “You called me confusing earlier… and you’re so confusing…”

In that moment, they felt Miraak's soul reverberating along with theirs, the pulsation of two very upset dragons made the room unbearable, and the rush of energy between the two was extremely uncomfortable. They took deep breaths to calm themselves, but much to no avail, and their shoulders lowered in defeat, the dragon soul within them folding its wings. The outburst was uncalled for. They couldn’t even prove the written account on him as true, or at least, not completely. 

Miraak’s gaze never left them, but luckily as soon as Ypsilon’s energy was lowered, his yielded as well. He took a step closer to them, so that he wasn’t back to the door. His voice was low but it picked up quickly as he continued speaking. “Have the Greybeards taught you that in order to learn the words of a shout you must take them into yourself, you must become the manifestation of their words and hold the all within your soul? Have they taught you it is the same with dragon souls?” Ypsilon looked at him, bewilderment hidden by their mask. “If I were to kill Alduin, the world-eater, a brutal killer, I would be left with no choice but to devour his soul and thus take that horrendous evil within me.” 

“I may be a dragonslayer, or what historians and authors consider me to be, but I do not stoop to the level of killing a person, let alone that many. In order to take in that demons soul, I would become it, and to some extent I would become the one to carry all the blood that the World-Eater has spilt.” Miraak spat. “I refuse to be as disgusting as that infernal beast. Not to mention, I had my own rebellion going on. I was busy, too much was happening at once, and I refuse to be blamed by the likes of  _ you _ .”

Ypsilon huffed out from their nose and got to their feet, moving closer to him. It felt like a challenge suddenly, and they wanted to look him in the eye, rather than him looking down upon them as they sat on the bed. “I never thought of it that way…” they admitted, actually sort of embarrassed. “I knew that you take the meaning of a shout within you and in a way, you become it, but never considered the same with dragons souls themselves.” They paused for a moment, their understanding instantly becoming stronger when they thought of it. “But, when I was taught a shout, Dragonrend… it was made by humans who hated dragons so much, they were filled with evil and malice, and the Greybeards warned me against it.”

Miraak eyed them curiously, their soul was instantly heating up again, this time not out of anger but something more proud or at least, something kinder. They looked at him, he could not make out their eyes from behind the glowing blue of their mask, and they began to speak again. “I didn’t become evil, sure I started to knock dragons out of the sky, but only to stop their attacks. I never considered myself to become truly evil because I did it to save lives, not only of just people, but also the lives of dragons who weren’t bad. If I can slay Alduin and take his soul, I’m not becoming evil, nor will I have the guilt of what he did to people and dragons alike, but I’d hope that maybe I’d free their souls from his grasp… I just want to keep peace.” They shook their head at the poison in his words. “And I refuse to get scolded by the likes of you. You’re way past your prime, and I don’t understand why you thought your own plan was wise. Let me correct you, you had a failed rebellion.”

“Perhaps…” Miraak murmured, he seemed to only say this because he was being surprisingly civil. He actually didn’t want to answer with that he had no idea what the Dragonrend shout was. He would see with time, he was sure. He narrowed his eyes behind his mask, lips curling into a snarl, and he glared them down. He was far too stubborn to go back and forth with them, nor did he care to explain himself and the failure of his plans, so he simply crossed his arms and tried to look as menacing as possible.

He was somewhat frustrated with the Last Dragonborn, they had grand ideas, certainly, they had defeated Vahlok, not to mention they had defeated him as well. He tried to not doubt them simply because this Dovahkiin was somewhat impressive. And he would most likely never admit that too them, it was somewhat embarrassing to him, but he had been in a state of awe since the Last Dragonborn had gone after Mora like that. “You speak as if you have already planned this all out, Dragonborn. Your confidence is admirable, but your inexperience and naivety shows.”

If he could see behind their mask, he would notice that their mouth had instantly turned into a frown. “You seem to know very little about your future or fate, you don’t know Dovahzul, nor do you seem to understand what you are up against.” As he spoke, he swore he saw their body language wilt a bit, but the change was so minute. He felt guilt flare up in his gut and quickly added the following words. “Although, you were able to learn my own shout within a weeks time, use it against my own dragons, bested Vahlok in battle…and myself…” His voice softened noticeably, but he quickly became rougher again as he was conscious of it. “I believe that you can attribute your skill and learning to luck, or maybe that Akatosh favors you for some odd reason.” 

“I’ll take it, I guess.” Ypsilon felt themselves a little annoyed with his words, but surprised by when the sudden light tone came into his voice. They felt his soul resonate closer to theirs again, similar to how it felt when they saved him, it was a nice feeling, especially that the two were similar. It was hard not being able to talk in deeper understanding about Dragonborn-related topics. “I guess maybe Akatosh isn’t a fan of how you’ve been acting and thinks you should be grounded. You can blame your bad luck on that.”

Miraak let out a light noise that sounded like a short huff of laughter, and Ypsilon felt their heart soar for a moment before the boat suddenly went into motion, throwing them slightly off their balance. In that moment, they barely caught themselves leaning against his chest, hands on his arms for stability. He reflexed and they felt his hands fly to their shoulders, much to their surprise. They felt their face flush up and thanked their mask and then gently removed themselves from him once they came to their senses.  

“Oh, I’m sorry…” they said, voice pitching up anxiously. “I got startled by the boat… I’m going to go outside to talk to the captain really quick and then… fresh air, yeah…” 

Miraak seemed surprised, his body language unsure. He watched intently as they moved around him, and he felt himself get slightly flustered. “I’ll stay down here, then.” he responded, hoping the metallic tone of his voice was enough to make the trembling in it inaudible. Stupid… he certainly wasn’t touch starved, but…he scolded himself again and again. But…He pushed the thoughts away.

“Please come up whenever!” Ypsilon chimed, the ocean was mainly just huge waves and honestly, life-threatening scares and events, but at least it was better than being blind from what was going on outside. 

They moved up the stairs and was greeted by one of the workers on deck, who gave them a light smile and waved, and they returned the wave, hoping that their body language was friendly enough. Stupid… cultist… and his…damn attitude… but… egos were easy to topple. And his certainly was no exception. They didn’t know what exactly was going on with them, and their anger had quickly gone away. They shook themselves out of their weird thoughts and then quickly moved towards where the captain was commanding to go ask about how long the voyage would be.


	4. Venture to Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're stepping up the Gay™. Also I guess the ([modded](https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/61300/)) baby boy that will eventually get adopted shows up because... hell yeah. Gave him a backstory and everything, too. Also, my Dragonborn just essentially slaps Miraak in the face with their Tragic Backstory, so there's that. Whoops :0
> 
> (tfw when you try to make up a fetch quest but somehow it still seems more complex than actual skyrim)

It was absolutely freezing. The frigid wind that flowed over the ocean was blowing over Ypsilon’s clothes as the ship sailed into Windhelm’s port. The sky was darkened, the aurora was bright and colorful, the stars shone brightly, and to top it all off, the crescent moon, Masser hung in the sky like a scarily-white toothy grin. Secunda, Masser’s moon followed after the other moon, the two moons in a dance that would never allow them to be together.

Hands gripping the wood railings of the ship, Ypsilon gladly let the wind buffet them, the roughness of the wind somewhat stinging, but the cold was enough for them to ignore the force of the wind. Being in Solstheim had left them overheated and lethargic, and the return of the freezing temperatures made Ypsilon feel incredibly better. They felt their muscles awake, their senses heightened, and also they generally felt more at peace within the cold. Not to mention, they could happily withstand freezing temperatures to go find adventure. 

The crashing of the waves against the boat became less and less until the boat made a slight turn towards the docks, its wood creaking audibly as it came to a halt. They let out another sigh, relieved. They didn’t necessarily mind the ocean, but they’d rather not get trapped in the middle of it due to shipwreck or something. The crew, small in number, were quickly managing the boat, scurrying about as they gathered their belongings, probably for a break on Windhelm’s docks. Ypsilon dodged by them as they moved past, heading towards the stairs to head below deck to retrieve their things and also make sure Miraak was… even still here.

They hadn’t received a peep out of him since they left the cabin, and they wondered if he was asleep or something like that, or worse, sick from the voyage. They turned the corner, opening the creaky wood door to the cabin that they had rented for the passage. Entering the room, they noticed Miraak seated in the far corner of the cabin, reading a book that he had gotten from who knows where. He seemed barely disturbed by their entry or the fact that they should both be leaving now, but he seemed engrossed in whatever it was. They went to pick up their things from besides the bedside, turning to look at him, and watched as he closed the book and opened his satchel, sliding it in. They wondered if he had stolen it from them, or if he’d brought it from Apocrypha.

They were about to reopen the door, but then they paused for a moment. “Hey.. Miraak?” they turned to him and asked, voice questioning. “I think we need to do something about how you look…” 

Miraak stiffened visibly, his hands curling up into balled up fists. “If you wish to remove my mask, that will not be happening.”

“No, no.” Ypsilon said, giving him a dismissive wave of their hand. “I don’t want to de-mask you! I’m same, I wouldn’t want to take off my mask, either…” their voice softened a bit, they understood what he was getting at. They were curious to see, but understood where he was coming from. “I’m thinking a hood or something. Your clothing is very…” they eyed his intricate robes and their golden trim. “Recognizable. Or at least, flashy.”

Miraak shifted on his feet, crossing his arms. “I would sincerely hope that those of Skyrim would be able to recognize that of a Dragon Priest. It may give us an advantage against others, they wouldn’t dare look at me let alone engage me in battle.” his accent was extremely noticeable, and his tone was sharp. “Besides, do you expect me to fit into your clothes?”

“I don’t think that looking like a complete menace to society gives you any advantage!” they said, bewildered. “And, no I don’t! But I  _ do  _ have mage’s robes from Savos. He’s not particularly… big, but bigger than me, and these are some pretty loose robes. Here, let me get them.”

He really hasn’t been around for 4,000 years. They wouldn’t admit it, but they honestly hadn’t recognized that Dragon Priests have a particular garb until fighting and slaying four of them. There was no way a general civilian would recognize that garb unless said civilian had seen a Dragon Priest or had some kind of ancient fashion interest. Usually civilians had neither of those qualities. However, he was certainly… something, just not notable for what exactly he was, but he was definitely menacing and suspicious looking. 

Miraak let out a light huff as Ypsilon pulled the robes from their bag, they were tightly folded and rolled, but he could make out the blue-grey tones and fur lining. The name Savos was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Had he read something written by him? He watched as they slightly unfolded the robes, checking them up and down before passing them over to him, which he took them.

“I’ll step out in a second so you can change-” Ypsilon began, before getting cut off by an irritated Miraak.

“I didn’t agree to this.” he said, shortly.

“Oh! I…” the Dragonborn suddenly seemed at a loss for words, but they picked their words wisely it seemed like. “Miraak, please, I don’t want to be rushed by guards and I can’t have you running around and risking yourself.”

“If I risk myself, that’s my own choice.” he was becoming ever more stubborn, and the Last Dragonborn stared him down, hands falling to their hips. He wondered if they were trying to intimidate him.

“Miraak…” their voice was cautious and sounded like a warning rather than begging. “Just this once, please. You wanted to return to this world in full freedom, if you have 30 Windhelm guards lugging you off into jail, Hermaeus Mora is absolutely going to take you back and kill you as soon as you get behind bars. He likes to lurk in shadowy, mucky places!”

He clenched his teeth and felt disgust seeping back into him, any stubbornness placed with defeat and irritation. “Fine, I’ll wear them. You are ensuring they’re clean, no?” 

He swore the blue glow from behind their mask’s eyeholes flared and they gave a nod. “Well, yeah! I cleaned them myself.” they said. “I wouldn’t of worn stinky mage clothes, either, if I were you.” they added, a smile in their voice.

He felt his gut wrench and guilt boiled up in him again. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that everytime he practically spat poison at this Dragonborn they just seemed to get stronger from it. It had originally irritated him, but that irritation had evaporated and left an empty feeling along with guilt. His grasp on his emotions had been worse ever since he’d left Apocrypha, and he swore if he felt guilt one more time because it seemed like the Dovahkiin was so intent on killing him with kindness he’d… Huh. What would he do anyways. He certainly had no plans to stay with them, yet he wasn’t sure where to begin. He wondered their intentions, but he assumed it will be revealed with time. 

He turned away from them, running his gloved hands over the fabric. “Do you plan to give me some space to change or are you going to stand there?”

“What?” they seemed confused for a moment, but they seemed to grasp what he was asking. “Oh! Yeah, shoot sorry.”

He listened to them quickly close their bag and dart out of the room. He smiled from behind his mask, amused by their behavior, not to mention the fact that he could hear the flusteredness in  their voice. How endearing, he thought. He had wondered if the Dragonborn’s kindness to him was to make him squirm or genuine, and he felt the resounding feeling of a strange gentleness reverberating off their soul as they left. He was somewhat relieved with this new information, however, regardless of their intentions their mushy kindness still was successfully making him squirm. Just internally and guiltily…

The door closed and he was left to undress and redress in private. Ypsilon pressed their back against the door to the cabin, patiently waiting for him to come out. In a few moments, the door swung open from behind them with a loud creak and they moved out of the way so he could emerge from the cabin. Ypsilon sized him up quietly, the robes were luckily larger than them and also than their previous owner, so Miraak fit into them alright, and there was looseness and room to spare. Mage’s Robes never seemed to be a tight fit on anyone.. He wore the hood up, and his mask still glinted from the shadow that the hood provided, but he was certainly less conspicuous now. He wore his own gloves and boots, but they were not too flashy.

Miraak tugged awkwardly on the collar of his shirt, and Ypsilon sighed lightly. Still no skin was showing. At this point, they wondered if he had skin. They hoped he did because it’d be weird otherwise. “Shall we disembark?” Miraak asked, his voice low.

Ypsilon nodded, turning to head up the stairs. “Yeah, sure! Do you need me to carry your robes?” they asked, gesturing to the large pack on their back.

He shook his head, following them up the stairs. “No.” he said, and Ypsilon took note of the fact that his satchel looked funnily round. 

They suppressed a little laugh and then proceeded to head off the boat, walking carefully along the plank that connected the boat to the dock. It was nighttime, now, and the usually bustling dock was still and quieter than usual. The Windhelm guards, clad in steel armor, their faces obscured by helmets patrolled up and down, their eyes glinting from behind the metal. They held torches, lighting the area and the docks were cold, the grey stone lining them reflecting the warm light and making it a harsh bluish white color. Ypsilon followed the length of the docks, until they reached a steep stair case that led to one of the entrances of Windhelm. A massive door, heavy and iron stood in front of them and they shoved it open, not opening it fully because its sheer size and also that the two of them could just slip through the crack.

The roads of Windhelm were covered in ice and slushy water, causing movement along the roads treacherous if one wasn’t too careful. There were a few people going about their business, mostly returning home for the night or guards were patrolling. Windhelm was once the capital of Skyrim in its first years, and the city definitely seemed like it was something. The walls rose higher than the buildings within the city boundaries, and the buildings were stone and sturdy, the pathways were cobbled. Hung torches and braziers lit the paths and roads, and bordered houses and stores. Flags emblazoned with the image of a bear outlined with gold upon a blue backdrop waved in the icy wind, and the sound of the flapping was one of the only sounds that could be heard. 

Speaking of the Grey Quarter, Ypsilon turned down a specific pathway, narrow and unkept, and followed it down until they reached a gritty, filthy little neighborhood, tucked in the dark against the city walls. Their breath drew out a hiss and Miraak’s voice rang quietly from behind them.

“What is this place?” he asked, his voice low and seemingly offended.

“The Grey Quarter,” Ypsilon sighed. “The Dunmer refugees that fled the explosion of Red Mountain and tried to seek shelter in Skyrim live here.”

As they walked past boarded up windows and doors, their foot got stuck in a dip. When their eyes fell to it, it was faintly lit by the dwindling torches, realizing that they had got stuck in a pothole. They rolled their eyes and their lips curled upwards in disgust. “Clearly the Jarl of Windhelm doesn’t like to get people to take care of it.”

Miraak let out a hiss of a sigh and he seemed slightly irritated. It was understandable, as Solstheim was hit by the explosion of Red Mountain too, and he probably watched as the world turned into ash from Apocrypha… He would’ve also noted a difference in Solstheim since he’d first gone into the book hellscape. There was something so sad about it, that he’d existed before the volcanic eruption, only to watch as the once green lands were suddenly coated in ash. Everything had died…Red Mountain was only one tragedy, though, and they wondered how many he’d seen.

“Where are we going?” he asked, he sounded like he wanted to leave. 

Ypsilon pulled their foot from the pothole and kept going down the narrow street, watching their step. “The New Gnisis Cornerclub. I had to bring a delivery to the owner, so we can stop there for a drink or something, and then head back out.”

Miraak responded with silence and the two went towards a stone staircase that led up to a messy, wooden panelled door, with an askew sign that read “New Gnisis Cornerclub”. The sign looked like it was going to fall any second, and when Ypsilon swung open the door, it trembled, threatening to fall. The tavern that they entered into wasn’t any better than the outside, messy wood panelling, water damage on the walls, and other very noticeable structural issues were instantly visible upon entry. There were only about 4 people, all elves, two men, a woman, and then a child that had tromped down the stairs very suddenly. One man tended the bar and the other two were seated at a table talking amongst each other.

“Ambarys, could I borrow the spear, I can get us some fish for breakfast tomorrow!” the child, dark hair messy and red eyes wide and excited. 

The man tending the bar looked towards him. “I’m afraid not now, the dock guards would certainly have a bone to pick with you at this time, even if you are simply fishing.”

“Aw….” there was obvious disappointment in the childs tone, but he didn’t pester him further. “But tomorrow’s breakfast-”

“Go to bed, Zinrain.” the bartender said, his voice also very tired and not too pleased. “We’ll go fish together in the morning.”

“Alright…..” the young dark elf said, heading back down the dusty hallway behind the bar and clambering up the stairs.

Ypsilon slowly walked up to the counter, Ambarys quirking a greying eyebrow at them. “Hello elf-sibling, was there something you needed?” Ambarys leaned inward on the counter, elbows on the surface.

They put their belongings on the ground next to the bar and opened their huge pack and tugged out a sack that had food inside. “Preserved ash hopper and some ash yams, straight from Raven Rock.” they murmured, passing it to him. 

Ambarys’ tired features lit up and he happily took the sack from them. “Thank you, adventurer.” he said, a slight smile on his face. “Here let me get you some gold for your troubles…” He turnt to go get money from a strong box behind the counter.

“No, no! It’s okay! I know the Cornerclub is struggling to stay paid for, so I don’t need money.” they said, tapping their fingers on the wood of the counter. “Although, if I could I’d like to buy some shein.” 

Ambarys nodded approvingly, going to the back and retrieving a mug with a pearly white liquid inside of it, looking expectantly towards Miraak. “Would you like some for your friend as well?” he asked. 

Ypsilon looked to Miraak, who shook his head. “Would you rather mead?” they asked him, aware that Shein might’ve been a little too weird for his tastes.

Miraak seemed to ponder this a moment, Ypsilon thought he’d say no, but he nodded slightly. “For the road.” he said.

Nodding, Ambarys got two small bottles of mead and passed them over the table to him, and Ypsilon forked over a bit of their gold Septim coins to pay for it. Miraak expected Ypsilon to make for the door, but instead they took a seat at the counter, and his curiosity was peaked as they did… have to remove their mask to drink. The barkeeper had called them an elf, so maybe they’d reveal their face. Miraak leaned inwards a little too obviously and Ypsilon looked at him from behind their mask. His hands clenched at the bottles he’d been given, shoving them into his satchel.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” They asked, patting the stool to their left, their voice sounded light and relaxed. “Relax and get the cold out before we head back into it?”

“I have no intention of drinking here.” he murmured, taking the seat next to them, Ambarys eyed him curiously, there was confusion rather than suspicion in his eyes.

“Understandable.” Ypsilon said, and then their hands went to their mask, pulling at it lightly. 

Miraak felt his heart jump, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to watch. He felt disappointed when they only shifted it upwards slightly, their gloved fingers gingerly gripping at the dark metal. He watched as they angled it away from their face, revealing their mouth and they took a sip from the drink. He watched intently, wondering if they’d remove it further, trying to observe what he could see. His eyes traced over their skin and he recognized it a similar shade to a Bosmer, the skintone was close to that of a human, but was definitely elven in the backshade of it…There were areas that were rather pink and puffy, and their skin was very light. His eyes closed in on the fact that there was a soft cyan glow reflecting off the inside of the mask, he had assumed the glow had been something laid in the mask’s eye holes. Perhaps they weren’t actually Bosmer…?

“Ypsilon.” a voice called from the table behind them, and Miraak recognized the voice was of the woman that had been seated earlier. “Could you come here a moment.”

They pressed their mask back into place, much to Miraak’s disappointment, and got up from the stool and went off to the where the man and woman were sitting. He held his place, leaning on the counter, relaxed, but listening in on the conversation being had.

“What! That’s extremely sad…” Ypsilon murmured. “Poor boy…” 

The Bosmer woman, Brelas, looked somber. “Poor thing had been found in his parents home without any parents... “ she murmured, sadness lacing her voice. “They got sick from the ash from Red Mountain.”

“It’s truly sad when it’s only the aftershocks that get people.” said the Bosmer man, Malborn. “He’s been staying here since no one else in the Grey Quarter really has the ability to feed a child.”

“Poor thing...”Ypsilon made a low hum of sadness, before they cleared their throat. “Not to change the subject so soon, but you two had something you needed me for?”

Brelas nodded, folding her hands as she gave them her quest. “Well… as you know we’ve been meaning to head back to Morrowwind, but…” her voice quivered slightly. “I can’t leave without my mother’s pendant. It was taken by bandits about a week ago and I don’t have the money to pay for a sellsword to get it for me. I was wondering if you could get it for me?”

Miraak’s eyebrow twitched. His travelling partner was running themselves ragged. He doubted they would take the offer, they had just missed out on gold from their delivery, and he honestly wondered what gold they had in their pockets right now.

“Of course, I’ll have it done for you within the week.” they said. “Do you know where the bandits are…?”

Miraak mentally facepalmed. Of course. They had a heart of gold rather than any actual gold.

“Nearby, actually.” Brelas said, nodding. “I’ve tracked them to an area near Kynesgrove, but I haven’t figured out where exactly. They could be in a cave, a house…?”

“That’s alright, I can find them.” Ypsilon purred, and Miraak heard the chair scoot off with a loud sliding noise and get pushed back into place. “I’ll return within the week, have a good night!” 

The two responded with their own goodnights and Miraak felt Ypsilon’s presence behind him as he swung around in his seat and got up, once again following behind them. The heavy doors were open once again, and the two exited the warm bar and was once again in the harsh winter night. Miraak felt chills run through him. The cold weather never bothered him, and Apocrypha was always humid and warm, so he hadn’t felt the cold in so very long. On the other hand though, Ypsilon seemed much more fluid and alive upon stepping out, surprisingly energized.

He followed behind them, and they spoke up softly as the two exited the Grey Quarter and neared a new road that he hadn’t noticed earlier. “We can set up camp outside the city limits, it may be a little cold, but…” they trailed off as the two reached a large town square with flickering lanterns and braziers, and exited through a pair of massive doors.

Guards were patrolling the outside, and there was a long bridge that stretched from the opening they had just come from to the other side of the large frigid river that flowed in from the port’s bay. The guards patrolled the long length of it, and they didn’t seem to really mind as the two masked travellers exited the area. As soon as the bridge was cleared, Miraak noticed that it did indeed feel much colder and that there was a light snow falling. It was strange, it reminded him of how the ash looked when it fell, but snow was cleaner and whiter. Part of him had missed snowy nights and days, but the other part could care completely less. His life prior to Apocrypha was hazy as was everything else that didn’t exist within the dimensions bounds. He wondered how he usually kept warm on these cold days, if he huddled up to fire or just dealt with it? Did he sit down at the fire with a book? He couldn’t remember.

The two trodded down a snowy cobblestone path, and suddenly Ypsilon veered off up towards a hill, easily climbing up the small curve of it. When they got to the top, they set down their pack and opened up the top, pulling what looked like seamed together furs and leathers. 

“Can I get some help pitching the tent?” their voice was quiet, calm. 

Miraak went to their aid with no response and was silently passed the structure parts of the tent, which he quickly set up with ease, the wood piercing the ground. They then covered it up, finished all the arrangements, laying the bed rolls down, placing a lantern, and lining any openings with fur so that they wouldn’t get cold. He quite honestly wondered if they even felt the cold. He watched as they gathered stones for a fire, tossing a few pieces of already chopped deadwood into it, before dousing said wood into bright, crackling fire magic. It seemed like they were more than prepared, that bag had a surprising amount of things within.

“Don’t just stand there, sit down, sit down!” they chimed, pulling out rations they had from their bag and showing some salted meat to him.

He did as they said, as per usual, silently, and took the meat from them. He held it for a moment, noticing that they seemed to be watching him expectantly and he decided to do as they did earlier, lifting his mask ever so slightly to slide the food past it and into his mouth. He chewed quietly, he had to admit he wasn’t in the mood to eat, nor was he used to eating, but he had only eaten three times since the two had met, which wasn’t a lot. He recoiled at the taste of the salt, disgusted by how food felt and tasted, but he attempted to bare with it. He shouldn’t be starving himself like he was, but everything tasted like  _ too much.  _ They tilted their head curiously and their voice rang again, Miraak’s thoughts were drifting but were brought back to what was going on currently by their voice.

“What are your plans?” they asked, their voice was concerned and soft. “You follow me to Skyrim, what are your plans?”

He scowled underneath his mask. “If I were to have any plans, why would I dare to tell you?” he asked, sourly. 

They clasped their hands and folded them below their chin. “... So, you have bad plans?” the questioned. “You wouldn’t get so defensive if they weren’t would you…?” 

“If that’s what you think so be it.” 

“Tell me, Miraak.” they purred out lightly, he felt something resonate within him whenever they said his name, but this time he felt a light thumping in his chest. “How long were you in Apocrypha for? And why did you want to come back so bad?”

He tilted his head downwards and he peered directly at the fire, not willing to even meet their masked gaze. “For a few thousand at least.” he murmured, somewhat huffily. “Being in limbo with an infuriating knowledge demon isn’t exactly the most pleasant way to spend said years, so it was simply a matter of time before I left because of that.”

Ypsilon’s voice seemed triumphant as if they were winning at a game or something, but the game seemed to be to pull at him. “But what are your plans? You have had to have an idea of what you wanted to do after leaving!” they said. “If you could do anything at this point what would you do? What could an ancient Dragon Priest right out of the book void do with his time?”

“Ever heard of the phrase curiosity killed the cat? Maybe you should consider that.” he said, dryly. “I had plans previously but they seem harder… to get into action.” He punctuated each word harshly. 

“Curiousity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back!” they sang back, and Miraak’s lips curled into a scowl from behind his mask. “Hmm…Then, what do you plan to do currently, surely you don’t want to be following me around, huh?” they asked, curiosity lining their voice.  They seemed to be asking questions that blatantly made him question himself, these answers he hadn’t even considered after he asked to go with them.

He mentally cursed himself, why. Why was it as soon as this Dragonborn had approached him that he couldn’t think straight. His head got all fuzzy and the world felt wrong and he couldn’t even consider what his original plans were, it was all forgotten once they had saved them, it was a move that was unexpected. However, he kept answering to them, following them, playing into their palms, and he couldn’t for the life of him grasp whether the Dragonborn was extremely genuine or was simply playing a game. Was it to enthrall him? Use his powers for themselves? He couldn’t understand, meanwhile the darn elf just sat there twiddling their thumbs and poking the fire with sticks. There was something about them that was so disarming, but then another thing that put him on high alert. He felt like he was being studied, just as Hermaeus Mora had, and that this was once again a similar experiment to those he’d faced at the hands… er… tentacles of the vile beast. A game of wits and manipulation, of course, but he couldn’t grasp what it was. This Dragonborn was so odd, they were watching him, observing, just as they did in battle, but this time he felt like he wanted to impress them. Not to threaten them, but… Perhaps his fears stemmed from their unidentifiable accent, the bright glow emanating from behind their mask, and that their inner Dov soul was so strangely constructed from what felt cold but somehow acted extremely warm. It confused him, and things that he didn’t understand irritated him greatly.

Ypsilon was quietly watching him still and he mentally slapped himself because he was aware of being dramatic. “We will see with time…” he said, not sure how to respond. “What of your plans? I don’t know where you’re from, either for that matter.”

They went quiet for a moment. “I suppose… I would go fight Alduin. And save the world. That’s at least the plan set out for me.” their voice was quiet and they were thinking hard. “Then I suppose whatever else happens, I’ll go with it.”

“You have no control over your fate.” he said, his voice curling with some emotion that was unrecognizable. How sad, he thought.

A frigid wind blew through the pair, the campfire almost going out with the sudden gust. The snow started to fall a little heavier, and the chill along with the fast wind signalled that there would be a snowstorm coming soon. The stars were beginning to get blotted out by big, thick clouds and it wasn’t a good sign.

“Well, I don’t have a problem with it honestly.” they murmured. “If fate wants me to be a hero, I guess I’ll do it. I don’t have better things to be doing. Anyways, if fate decrees that I have to do it, then I guess it shouldn’t be too hard, you know?”

He listened intently as they talked, their hands holding their legs to their chest as the rested in the warmth of the fire. “I mean, I probably sound totally lazy or something, but I’d rather go with the flow and do things as needed. Plus, like I said I don’t have anything else to do, I have nowhere to be, no one to see, you know?”

“What of your family? Friends?” he asked, this was genuine curiosity. He couldn’t fathom that somehow this strange elf was just wandering with no belonging. Their personality and friendly demeanor suggested otherwise.

“Well, I have friends, certainly!” But, family, I’d… rather not get into that.” they muttered, and he realized he was opening up old scars, the glow from behind their mask dimmed slightly. They looked to the sky and then with a large deep breath, getting to their feet. “We should probably go into the tent before we get frozen alive.”

Somewhat hesitantly, Miraak got to his feet and ducked under the leather flap that separated the tent from the rest of the world and entered the small and slightly warm dwelling. Ypsilon followed suit and undid the flap, strapping it to the bottom part of the structure, making sure that they wouldn’t get snow inside. The tent wasn’t puny, but it wasn’t huge either. It was tall enough for the both of them to stand, and the two could easily move and sleep with a bit of arm room to spare. It was an alright size, although he would’ve prefered more room between the two. Miraak watched as they took a seat on their bedroll and then he did the same, folding his arms and crossing his legs as he sat. He felt odd about being in such tight quarters with them, however, they didn’t seem to mind.

The wind began blowing harder and it howled as it sped up, he noticed that the Dragonborn shivered slightly, rubbing their clothed arms, and slouching inwards to keep warm. He felt similar, he felt the chills climbing into him, but the robes were warm. It was strange, previously the Dragonborn seemed extraordinarily happy with the cold, but now it seemed to be wracking their body. Now that he felt the air around him, he realized it was most likely too warm for them to be cold, and anxiousness flared up in him, wondering why they were suddenly so jittery. He probed their body language with his eyes wondering if he could see why, but then he sighed outwards, raising his voice so they could hear him over the wind.

“Dragonborn, are you feeling the cold?” he asked.

The Dragonborn mumbled something slightly, then their voice picked up again. “I’m fine.” they said, their head tilting to the side a bit. “Miraak,” there it was again, the saying of his name, he realized he took delight in hearing them say it. “When we first met and I suppose also before our battle, I was so excited to meet someone like me. Someone that was Dragonborn, you know?” their voice was soft and somewhat sad sounding. “I pondered about it for days and days and then eventually had to conclude that there would probably be no way I’d talk to you casually, or in a way that only the two of us could understand.”

He wondered if they meant simply about the experience of being Dragonborn, or in Dovahzul, but he couldn’t place it. He had felt similarly, of course, but he had quickly ridded himself of the thoughts of speaking with the Last Dragonborn as allies because he so direly needed to escape. He didn’t want to empathize with them as he was more than prepared to win the fight for freedom, yet here we were. 

“And then it came to that I was going to fight you, to kill you, so that I could rid Solstheim of your grasp and then... “ they trailed off. “I decided you were my enemy, but I realized that Mora just pulls the strings on you.” They seemed extremely stressed and they removed their hood, mask still on and grabbed at their dark red-brown hair, tugging at it lightly. “And I was fine with it when he went to take your life away, but then I realized that that could be me in the future, but not only that, it was as if he started to pull your soul out of your body! I thought back to the dragons and how they die and how terrifying it probably is to watch as everything is taken away from you, not even just your mortal body, but also your spirit, and I couldn’t watch. So I got in the way. I could’ve killed us both.”

Miraak did not waver and looked intently at them, their body becoming much more jittery. He could feel their soul blasting waves of emotional turmoil and confusion out towards his, and his soul curled its wings on itself, trying to close up tight. 

“But then, I realized there were more similarities that we shared, and it scared me. I know you don’t know them as I haven’t shared anything about myself, but…” they trailed off before they looked up to him. They let out a light sigh. “I know, you know my name is Ypsilon, I’m the Last Dragonborn, destined to kill Alduin. I’m also one of the last remaining…” they winced. “Snow Elves.Before they got shoved underground and enslaved.”

Miraak didn’t understand how that made them similar at all. It did however peak his interest and he leaned inwards. Snow Elves were extinct, he was sure maybe only one or two had existed and he doubted anyone would ever meet them, but a Snow Elf? Being the Dragonborn, how interesting. He presumed that the Last Dragonborn would usually be well-known, recognized by almost everyone, and now he understood why they hid their face with the mask. The glow, the frostiness to their skin, the way they liked the cold, it all made sense. 

“Do you think we are similar because we are both last members of certain groups?” he asked, his lips curling upwards.

“You mean the Dragon Priests? No, no,” they shook their head. “I suppose I can relate further to you being in limbo for a very long time rather than… I suppose that part of your history…”

Miraak closed his arms around him tighter, and they came a little closer, so they could lower their voice and still be audible against the winds outside the tent. “You know the history of Snow Elves right? I’m sure you read books on it?”

Miraak nodded. “A proud race, advanced and well-organized, but they were later oppressed during the wars and Nords ran them out of their lands, overpowering them easily.” he recited. “They elves were trapped between mountains and the nearby countries, meanwhile Nords on the other hand, so they attempted to take refuge with their allies, the Dwemer, who eventually became their demise.” he recited, yeah, he had read this before, almost a million times, as every single scholar on Snow Elf theories had to give what was true before everything was riddled with lies and superstitious ideas on what happened to them.

They nodded. “Yeah, and the alliance with the Dwemer was always… not too good. It was fine, but uncomfortable, the Dwemer always wanted something in return. So when the Snow Elves decided to move down into their giant golden cities, they were unwilling to spare more food than vegetation and fungus that grew down within their caverns.” Miraak nodded at their words, he had read this as well. “But the fungus was toxic to us Snow Elves, so upon consuming it for long periods of time, we began to go blind and then they enslaved us and we cleared corridors and toppled the insides of mountains for them to build within. It was strange, we watched as the Nords lost interest, wars ended, civil war began… it was strange.”

Miraak was quite honestly, shocked to have a first account being told to his face. Were they blind? They seemed rather receptive visually, but he wasn’t sure if they could actually see. He stared at them, but they wouldn’t notice that he was squinting judgmentally at them. “I was younger maybe 20 something, and my community hadn’t gone down very early on in time, so I only worked for about ten or so years. Miraak’s breath hitched and his body language was clearly startled, and they huffed out a light sigh. “I’m an elf, I live a long time.” they stated, their voice sounding tired, as if they’ve said this before.

“I am well aware of that.” he said, his voice betraying nothing. He was surprised. Their amicable nature and general inexperience seemed to make them younger, although he realized he was taking this at surface value and listened intently. He hadn’t had a taste of all their skills quite yet, and they had bested him in battle… it was experience, there was no such thing as talent when it came to battling like they had.

“But, I was going through working on repairing their walls when someone had ended up striking open the bottom of a massive lake, and that whole area of the city would’ve been flooded if they hadn’t… Flash frozen it…Instantly froze that flooded area with magic and sealed it up.” they winced physically and verbally. “I was stuck inside the ice for many, many years, and I was eventually released from it only a couple years ago by a group of mages from the Mage’s College in Winterhold who were exploring the Dwemer ruin. I didn’t expect to still be alive, or I suppose, I wouldn't of expected anything, I wasn’t conscious but I… I guess I didn’t expect to be here, or to be extremely needed for some huge prophecy. I thought some young and recently born person would be fit to be Dragonborn, you know?”

Miraak now understood. They were similar, forced to watch at a distance as the world moved on, eventually forgetting about their very existence. His gut clenched as he watched them move slightly more closer to him, and he dug his nails into his knees as he changed sitting positions. Their hands were close to him, but they rested on their legs. Sympathy flared up into him and he felt for them, he truly did. Maybe, fate wanted Dragonborns to endure similar things, perhaps it was how their souls were shaped. He wasn’t sure, he didn’t understand, and he couldn’t parse all the information that had been exchanged that was flying through his head. 

“Amongst those mages was Savos, he helped me and explained to me the current history and current events of the world.” Ypsilon said, their head tilted downwards slightly, as if thinking hard. “He took me in for a brief amount of time. He allowed me to regain my eyesight via a maintained spell.”

“This Savos is he your-” Miraak was instantly cut off by a very startled Ypsilon. 

“No! No, I already know what you’re going to say, sorry for cutting you off, but he’s the Archmage! He’s the headmaster at the Mage’s College in Winterhold.” they corrected, and then their nervousness evaporated again and he watched their body language relax.

Savos Aren, he thought. He’d read that name before. The current Archmage was certainly interesting, he’d read much on him, his pursuits, his legacy, and his current dealings. Nothing about saving a Snow Elf. Doubt tugged on Miraak, was this Dragonborn just playing with him again? Or was it genuine?

“Ahhh… one other thing, though, Miraak.” their voice, clear and close brought him out of his thoughts. “Outside Apocrypha, when I was helping you on to the bed roll and healing your wounds, I kept feeling surprisingly calm. When I came back from the hunt, and you had woken up and our souls kept resounding against each other I felt… strange. I wanted to be closer, but of course, people just don’t do things with that instantly, especially with someone meant to be your enemy.”

“That feeling is mutual, Dovahkiin.” he hissed out, it felt like he was on fire from the inside, he desperately wanted to say something, but he kept his teeth gritted and allowed them to keep talking. 

“And I suppose I feel guilty for asking this of you so soon, since we’ve only been around each other for about a week or two, and we were sworn enemies earlier, but could we maybe stick together. For a bit. Please.” They talked, becoming more jittery and their hands dug into the furs beneath the two.

“My quarrel is no longer with you, Dovahkiin.” Miraak murmured, his gloved hand reaching for theirs, disconnecting it from the furs, and entwining it with his own when he noticed no hesitation or pullback on their part. Hoping that the Dragonborns shakiness was enough to disguise the fact that he too, was shaking, he shifted slightly onto his knees. “I will accompany you for the time being.” 

“You don’t need to agree to my statement because of pity.” they seemed strained in their voice.

“I don’t give you pity as you do not require it. Nor would I give out pity like this.” he said, plainly, watching as their shakiness relaxed and he felt their thumb graze the back of his hand through the glove. “However I want a taste of you thu’um, you have not given me an the experience of your shouts.”

“That’s good…” they murmured. “I…”

“I hope you aren’t going to say you don’t know any. You are a poor excuse for a Dragonborn if not.” 

“No, no!” They said, suddenly surprisingly cheery. “I… your word choice somewhat confused me upon what you meant.” 

“Oh…” he trailed off upon realizing. Did they expect him to kiss them or something, was that the innuendo they thought? Oof.

Arms snaking around his neck and warmth against him brought him back to the present, and he reacted accordingly by wrapping one arm around their waist and past the small of their back. He had expect them to be chilly, cold like the wind outside, but they were warm, and the soft thrum of their soul calmed him as he held on tightly to them. His hood fell down, and he wanted to press his face into their hair. 

“Oh wait… Miraak, wait a sec…” they hissed out and he watched as they undid a few latches alongside their mask. 

Miraak felt his soul reverberate with excitement and was surprisingly more pleased than he has been in a while when he watched them peel their mask away, they didn’t make eye contact, or look up, their hair was all he saw for a good moment, before they put their hands back to where they had already been, around his neck. He patiently waited for them to look at him, and they shyly lifted up to look at him, a sweet smile on their face.

Pointed elven features, with kind white pupiless eyes gazed at him. Glowing lines pathed around their features, the bottoms of their lips, creases of their eyes, shape of their nose, they glowed slightly and produced a frosty effect, and they cracked another soft smile at him before the realization hit him like a freight wagon being pulled by six unruly and untrained horses. 

This was the one who he’d seen in his dreams on the day before they had talked to him. He clutched them closer, their arms wrapped tighter, one of their legs locking around him as they pressed against him, hugging on as if they haven’t touched anyone in so long. He hadn’t either, and he admitted that it was nicer to hold on to someone while the winter storm raged on outside. Suddenly, the cold felt so distant, and he felt warm, not the humid Apocrypha warmth, or the lonely cold, but a warmth that only accompanied close moments like this.


	5. Battle Start!

The dungeon was foggy and almost impossible to navigate. The usually well-versed Dragonborn stumbled amidst the fog, barely able to tell what was directly in front of them. Their body felt heavy, uncoordinated, and unsteady as they lurched through the dungeon, weapon in hand. Their mind was clouded, not thinking straight, and everytime they heard a sharp noise, fearful that it would be undead crawling towards them, their vision blurred. After confusing meandering for what seemed like ages, they stumbled out into a large opening in the stone, exiting the summit to a strange mountain with a steep drop on every side. Upon this summit, rested a large sarcophagus, covered completely, and behind it a curving, ornamental wall, patterns and words of another language carved into it. One of the words glinted with a blue light, glowing amongst the duller, darker carvings. Almost instinctively, Ypsilon clambered on towards it, bypassing the sarcophagus, but when they finally got to the wall, the sarcophagus burst open. 

Their brain became fuzzy again, and they whirled around to view a bony, wraith-like figure slowly float above the opening of its burial spot, it slowly turned, hovering above. It stretched out its long bony and decomposing limbs and an ear-piercing screech sounded from an unseen mouth. Ypsilon, suddenly invigorated, moved forward with their sword raised, an ice spell in their free hand. Their eyes fell upon the lich’s details and they slowly came to realization that this was a Dragon Priest. The mask that it donned, bronze in color glimmered with a faint blue and glinted against the harsh sunlight. Their heart skipped a beat. Volsung? This was the Dragon Priest Volsung, they had sworn they’d already put him down. Their head spun but they began their attack, their movements almost robotic, orchestrated as if this had already been done before. It felt like their movements were planned out, following a pattern already followed. They readied their final attack, a shout, trying to feel the word in their soul before their eyes caught on to metal in the corner of their eyes. 

Golden metal, curved and clean, covered with groves and ornamental spines. Was that…? How was he…? They felt their mind get all foggy, the intense fog filling the space where Volsung hovered, and they felt a fear settle in like nothing they’ve ever felt before. The shadow of the bony lich moved and wavered, and their eyes darted back to catch sight of the… visitor, before realizing that he was gone. And suddenly, disgusting, long bony fingers grasp their throat and-

Ypsilon blinked, their eyes blurry and disoriented, and the fog on their brain began to wear off as they observed the area around them. A dream? They thought, their mind still clearly confused with where they were located. It was so strangely warm…It was still dim, which was fine, but the inside of a tent should be brighter in the morning. They tried to move, only to find themselves locked into place by an arm. Panic set in for a moment, but when the mass in front of them let out a deep sigh, they relaxed greatly. Their face was buried against his robes, and they slid themselves out from his arms, and got into a sitting position. Their eyes were still runny and they let out a long yawn, wondering how they had even gotten into such a strangely close position with Miraak. 

Partly they were glad, they felt things for him, really, but they also weren’t sure if it was too early to decide. They had a tendency to be impulsive, too so... After all, he still hadn’t shared his plans, and they honestly wondered if they could even trust him. Admittedly, they did, they didn’t think he was capable of anything bad at this point, he seemed to have more bark than bite. Ypsilon tried not to think to hard about things that were worrying them, they knew eventually they’d either be proven right or wrong, but they needed to focus on the task at hand. 

Stretching and arching comfortably, they fought the urge to curl back up against him, but instead managed to get their boots, gloves and mask back on and open the tent flap to the great outside. The snowstorm last night was long, they thought, trudging through a couple inches of snow that had definitely not been their earlier. Their eyes caught on to the heavy, snow covered trees and they were more than delighted when they went to their hands and knees to touch the snow. They removed their gloves and planted their hands inside the snow, a nice chill filling their body in comparison to the warmth of the tent.  

Their mind swirled with their plans for the day, first breakfast, they’d need to gather wood to pack for another campfire, then deconstruct the camp, and then head off to find those good-for-nothing bandits for Brelas. They wondered if Miraak would fight beside them, and their mind swam and began to get all fuzzy. They had originally denied themselves having a crush, but… this was a bit too much for them. The fact that they were able to forget their haunting dream to happily but idly daydream by the unlit ruined campfire from last night was kind of surprising. They shook themselves, putting their gloves back on, and they went a bit farther into the nearby forested area to grab some deadwood for the road. 

About half an hour passed before Ypsilon returned to the camp, and their eyes fell upon Miraak, who was sitting on a rock, shifting his mask ever so slightly as he ate the food they’d gave him. They let out a light sigh, then went to get to work on taking the tent down, which they managed to do with ease, and they rolled up the bedrolls and furs, trying to stuff them into what was the most roomy bag in all of Tamriel. They finished up their packing, lifted the pack back up with ease, and looked towards Miraak, who was looking off into the distance. 

“Isn’t it really pretty?” Ypsilon purred, walking up to him. 

“Mhm…” was the only thing he vocalized and he just kept staring ahead.

The two stood there in silence for a moment, and Ypsilon gazed at the direction he was looking. The snow covered almost everything, making a blanket of white over the land. The roads, the trees, rocks, hills, and cliffs were a soft, puffy white. The clouds were still overhead, threatening to release more, but that wasn’t a problem, for now the world was just silent and clean.

“You seem to still like the cold despite being frozen in it for so long.” Miraak’s metallic voice echoes, and Ypsilon is brought back into the present. He didn’t completely phrase it as a question, but they decided to answer it anyways.

“I do... “ they said, their voice light and low. “I suppose I like it because it’s nice and familiar, but I also don’t like the feeling of being too warm.”

Miraak’s attention darted to Ypsilon and he scanned them over. “Lower body temperature?” he questioned.

“Huh? I guess so…” they thought, they’d never really had to consider it. While they liked being warm, it made them feel uncomfortable and lethargic after being in it for too long. The cold was nice and they felt like they weren’t about to melt. “It may just be involving how the ice magic worked on me.”

Miraak nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement, turning away from them again. 

“How do you feel about the cold, Miraak?” they asked, curiously, they wondered if he was enjoying it as much as they were.

“It doesn’t hinder me, I’m Atmoran, there was nothing but ice and snow from where I came from,  but I would rather be warm.” he shuddered slightly. “Apocrypha’s temperature is fresh in my mind and in my body, the cold is somewhat… sudden.”

“Atmoran…?” they echoed, ah… that would make sense considering how old he is… They felt a small worry tugging on them, wondering his thoughts on the Snow Elves. However, from last night, he didn’t seem to harbor any resentment, nor did they to him for him being Atmoran. 

“Yeah, I can see why, 4,000 years can do that to you.” Ypsilon murmured in response. “You haven’t felt anything but the temperature of a gross book swamp, huh?”

“Book swamp is one name for it.” he responded, still staring off into the distance, beginning to fiddle with his gloved hands.

Ypsilon watched his fiddling and let out a thoughtful hum. “How do you feel about being out of Apocrypha?” they didn’t want to upset him, really, but they were genuinely curious. “I don’t mean to pry, but… Was it strange? You sometimes appeared ethereally but I don’t know how that physically feels in comparison to it now.” 

Miraak stiffened, his movement stopped entirely. He was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Being here ethereally barely gave me a taste of the world.” he said, his voice beginning to waver as if he were about to tear up, but they didn’t think much of it. “When I saw Secunda and Masser again and the stars and felt the ground under my feet I thought it was a lie.”

“That it was a dream?”

“No, more that suddenly Hermaeus Mora would of ensnared me and slayed me. Or simply a worst punishment, further imprisonment within his realm.” his voice was colder than it was earlier. “That within the moment of freedom, I would’ve had it snatched from me instantly.”

Ypsilon felt a sad feeling in their gut as he said that, and they swallowed hard. That was a very scary fear, not to mention they would’ve thought it was very possible in Solstheim. “Well… you’re here now! In the snow and in Skyrim, with the stars and sky over your head! And free to travel as you please…”

Part of Ypsilon still felt like they put Skyrim in danger because they released a very much alive Dragon Priest back into the world. The other part of them worried for him and wanted him to be safe and not skewered alive by a tentacle through his chest or something. 

Miraak remained silent, Ypsilon realizing this was a tense conversation and they let out a huff of air, realizing that it may be best for them to get to the task at hand. “We need to find Brelas’ pendant! I don’t think I’ll need much help, so you can stay here if you need. Enjoy what you’ve missed on your own time.”

Miraak shook his head. “I want to hear your Voice.” he says, plain and simple.

Ypsilon knew he’d repeat this, and although they certainly didn’t mind him coming along, they did not trust him in battle whatsoever. They had trusted him enough to fall asleep on him, sure, but that was by a road. Not to mention, that they would both have weapons drawn in battle, and him placing a well timed swordswing or firebolt into them while fighting it out in a cave against some bandits was certainly not the best. They thought upon it for a moment, and decided that they’d use primarily their bow so they could keep behind him. They were also worried because his urge to hear them use a shout was somewhat unsettling.

“Let’s pack up and go, then you can hear it, I guess.” they said, smiling behind their mask, trying to smile past their worries.

……

The two had quickly traversed through the snow, covering ground at a rather fast pace before they came upon a large cave opening, with a smaller opening leading further within the cave. Ypsilon’s eyes narrowed. There seemed to be no one on guard, but the embers from a dying fire were fresh underneath the rocky overhang, and there were animal bones, clearly from previous meals and unclean bandits. They scowled as they kicked a rabbit skull on accident, disgusted with the grime underfoot. Miraak had no complaints as he followed them towards the dark, dank tunnel that led further in. They noticed that there was a pike sitting out of the ground with a burnt corpse on it. They wrinkled their nose, good to know they were about to deal with murderers.

“This is the place?” Miraak asked, his voice low. 

“I think so, yeah…” Ypsilon murmured, gazing within the opening in the rock. “If you can, can you go ahead of me? I use my bow.” they said this gesturing towards the massive ebony recurve bow resting on their back next to a quiver filled with arrows. “I’m not sending you first so I can use you as a meat shield or something.”

Miraak tsk-ed and nodded, not complaining. He certainly didn’t trust them enough to stab him in the back, but otherwise he was unbothered by them being behind him. He’d have to be aware of them, but an arrow launched out of that bow was certainly something to be concerned about because an arrow could pierce straight through him in the blink of an eye. He chose to trust his instincts on this one, and if he felt them to be a threat, he’d jump to save his own hide without fail.

The two ventured into the cavern, sticking close to the walls, walking low to the ground in a sort of half-squat half-hunch posture. The slim cavern began to get wider and Miraak felt a light tug on his robes. He looked towards the Dragonborn, who held their hand up slightly signalling to slow down, and he stopped moving, as did they. 

The cave was almost silent, just the light drops of melting snow and puddles forming. Nothing out of the ordinary. From the small tunnel they had entered through, Miraak could see to their destination. It was a large cavern, with stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Moss grew along the rocky walls and there were bed rolls laid out in the farthest reaches of the room. Ypsilon peeked over Miraak’s shoulder, watching as two brawny bandits emerged from another cavern. They were clad in loose furs and their chests were out, legs bare and they were definitely not geared for winter weather, but for whatever reason bandits always were this way. Bandits not only were the actual bane of their existence, but the bandits fought to the death almost always, it was ridiculous. They were talking and cackling, but Ypsilon didn’t care to listen in, and they readied their bow. It was better to strike first than wait to get clobbered over the head with a mace.

Miraak stepped aside slightly, allowing them room to fire. Ypsilon pulled a single arrow from the quiver, placing it on the string. He watched them closely, watching them pull the string taut expertly, their movement literally so slight and smooth. And within a second the arrow was launched directly towards the enemies, lodging itself directly within one of the bandit’s upper thigh. The bandit fell to the ground with a yell, and then his friend pulled the mace from his side, running towards where the arrow had flown from.

“Come out!” the bandit hollered and Ypsilon shot another arrow, this time catching the angered bandit in the throat. He collapsed on the ground and Ypsilon got to their feet, emerging from their hiding spot, and passing by the dead bandit, and moving towards the next who was low to the ground. 

The other bandit stumbled to his feet, a magic spell crackling in his hand, and the man snarled angrily. “You’ll pay for that!” the spell flared to life and a pillar of flame erupted in front of Ypsilon, who quickly held their hands directly in front of them, producing a clear, rippling forcefield that shielded them from the fire magicka. It was in this moment, that the bandit pulled a dagger from his hip, going into attack them while they were vulnerable. As the bandit lunged, Ypsilon darted backwards and lowered their ward, this time their own spell frosting their hands over, the cold spreading throughout their body. 

Before Ypsilon could release the spell from their hands, a fireball struck the angry bandit in the chest and his body was doused in flame, erupting before dying. Ypsilon looked towards Miraak, who stood there, his hands low, but noticed that there was flickering light shining from behind the fingers of one hand. He walked towards them. 

“Thanks for that.” they said, gratefully. They honestly didn’t need the help in that moment, but they were grateful nonetheless. 

Miraak nodded slightly, and Ypsilon peered around the cavern. Nothing too weird or out of place for a couple gross bandits. There were some unfortunate skeletons lying about, but Ypsilon ignored them and moved towards a sturdy looking lockbox that rested next to the bedrolls. Luckily, it wasn’t locked and they opened it with ease, the glimmer of coins and Brelas’ pendant shone from inside. Bingo, they thought to themselves, fishing it out while pocketing the coins.

It was in that moment that the bandits incinerated body began to shiver. It instantly caught both their attention and Miraak let out a light noise of surprise when the body started to get back up. A necromancer? Here? They couldn’t sense any other prescenses, but here we were, the body getting right back up. They watched in surprise as the body began to bend at odd angles, the limbs following joints that did not exist within a human body. They were disgusted as the form tore itself apart, revealing a dank green tentacled beast, that floated just above the disguise which was turned into ash. 

“Seekers!” Ypsilon yelped, surprised. They readied their bow, and Miraak pulled his sword from its hook on his hip. 

“Two. Two Seekers.” Miraak corrected, turning as he noticed the other bandit too had become one of them. He turnt his back towards Ypsilon, the two nearly back-to-back as the strange beasts hovered in closer. 

They released spells from their outstretched, grimy hands, and these spells were easily dodged, but it was a moment before a boom of air knocked directly into Ypsilon from its hands. Their hands trembled with surprise, but they quickly fired off a few arrows directly into the Seeker’s grotesque green body, and it produced a strange cry, but it kept on coming. 

Miraak threw firebolts at the one coming towards him on his side, the Seeker barely slowing from it. He slashed with his sword as well, and it pierced its hide, the Seeker grasping the sword in its grubby clawed hands, attempting to wrench it out of his hand. Ypsilon’s eyes darted around the cavern. Surely, a shout would make the place crumble, they were worried but, as it seemed that brute force would not aid their situation, they let in a deep breath. 

“ _ YOL TOOR _ !” the two words for Fire Breath poured from their soul and the Seeker was enveloped into a burst of flame, the two bounded into action, Miraak struggled against the Seeker’s grip, a charging spell in his hand, which he quickly cast, zapping the Seeker head on in the face. It let out a sharp cry, swaying slightly before making a light pulsating sound and forcing another spell at Miraak, making him stumble for a moment. 

He did not fall though, and his own voice sounded. “ _ FO KRAH DIIN. _ ” Ice burst forth, its spikes piercing into the Seeker who’s entire body was thrown from the impact. Ypsilon, who was dealing with the other Seeker, took notice of this.

“Miraak! Switch!” they hollered, bow ready, loading it and reloading it, quickly shooting as many arrows as they could into the Seekers body, it squirming disgustingly as it took many hits.

Miraak obeyed this direct order, darting around Ypsilon, sword raised upon the burning Seeker, which floundered, pushing another burst of air at him, pushing him back slightly. He only skipped a beat for a moment, regaining his footing as he noticed that the other Seeker was back to floating, the many arrows still coming out of it. There was no way they would be able to finish these things, he thought, in Apocrypha they were easy to deal with, they were always on par or beneath him if they wanted to fight, but here, they were surprisingly hardier than what he remembered.

_"YOL TOOR SHUL_ !” Another bout of fire engulfed the already burning one, and the foul stench of something burning filled his nose. This Seeker was unrelenting, and it kept up the pace, throwing spells at him, which he easily deflected with the ward he had up. It released another harsh gust of air and he stumbled back again, the Seekers were starting to get more powerful, and he could only hold up his ward for so long. It dwindled and the Seeker unleashed an ice spike at him, and it clanged off the armor of his shoulder, before a shard of it cut into the robes. He felt Ypsilon back into him again, their arms linking into his. He didn’t understand what was up, and he glanced at them, sword still ready, as both Seekers closed in, blasts of wind from all sides knocking into them.

He felt their arms snake around his waist, and he was bewildered. “Dovahkiin,  _ what _ ?!” he yelled, hands gripping into his sword

He felt a tug as the Dragonborn went into motion, and he was tugged along with them, quickly and easily matching their pace as they darted around the Seeker and ran towards the entrance. The Seekers seemed barely inconvenienced and rose higher before speeding after them. Miraak felt another grip on his arm from Ypsilon, who with a bout of great strength, shoved him behind them through the entrance. He was unsteady on his feet, almost slipping on the rock, before he realized what they were doing. 

The Dragonborn let in a deep breath and then let out the loud and booming shout “ _ FUS RO DAH! _ ” which shook the cavern to its roots. He realized they were aiming for the rocky pillars that held up the ceiling and it felt as if the whole world was shaking when the rocks began to fall. The shout knocked into the pillar, causing it to shatter. Miraak’s heartbeat sped up greatly, and now it was his turn to do the yanking. He grabbed the Dovahkiin by the arm, tugging them out through the cavern’s tunnel as they barrelled after him, the tunnel becoming more and more unstable as the massive cavern gave way. Dust and rock flung after the two as they exited into the bright light that was the outside world. The entire rocky overhang of the cave gave way as they exited, and they almost jumped to safety, falling flat on the ground as the whole natural structure collapsed, dust, rocks, and snow being tossed up into the sky. The ground groaned and then all was still…

Miraak’s breath was heaving, as was Ypsilon’s as they rested. He heard their raspy breath panting as they relaxed for a moment, and Miraak lurched to his hands and knees, turning to look at what was left of the cavern. He prayed that the Seekers hadn’t survived that. He paused for a moment, and tried to hear over his own quickly beating heart. It felt like his chest was going to explode, and he swallowed hard, only to notice that Ypsilon wasn’t breathing heavily anymore. Urgency flooded him, and he rested a hand on them, only to notice a rumbling sensation that stopped every few seconds.

“Dovahkiin…” he gulped. “Are you still with us?” 

They let out a sharp noise as he touched their back, and his hand pulled away quickly as they came to a kneeling pose as well. It took him a moment to realize they were laughing. They held their gut, vocally still very raspy, but they were laughing, and he couldn’t understand why. Their light laughter made his heart beat faster, and he didn’t enjoy the feeling of being oddly flustered and he calmed himself, and Ypsilon’s laughter stopped for a moment before they let out a low gasp for air. 

“I can’t believe that worked…” they huffed, their breathing noticeable. “Thanks for dragging me, if I stood there for any longer making sure I hit, I would’ve been crushed!” they looked towards the rubble of the cavern, the light snowfall was already covering it. 

Miraak let out a low hum of approval. “Indeed Dragonborn,” he purred, before his voice became more serious. “Your use of Voice was crafty no matter how incredibly dangerous.”

“Aww… that’s sweet of you to say-”

“However your thu’um needs work.” he said. “You only used two words of the Fire Breath shout, if I heard correctly.”

“I was just about to thank you!” they said, mockingly startled.

“However, I will commend you on your satisfactory attempt.” he replies. 

“Pfft, thank you.” they said, before fighting off more laughter, and Miraak felt himself crack a smile from behind his mask. He liked hearing their laughter, it was light like freshly fallen snow, but it became more loud and excitable as it continued. “It seems like you can’t go a second without chastising me, even if I did just save your life again, and not to mention you’re panting like you can’t breathe! Save your breath!” 

They easily got to their feet, brushing themselves off, and they reached out a hand for him to take, which he did, and they helped him to his feet. He too brushed himself off, and they looked at the slight knick in the robes from the ice spell earlier. Nothing too bad at least, and nothing too raggedy in comparison to his old robes.

“Well… we can give this back to Brelas now, but I wouldn’t have the heart to tell her that her bandits were definitely not bandits.”

“Don’t then.” Miraak said, his voice somewhat disgusted. “I’m not sure why those creatures even appeared, nor would I like to know.” he shivered at the thought of Mora sending them here to dog his every footstep.

Ypsilon shrugged, but their voice was lined with extreme worry. “They were tough to beat, it felt like we weren’t doing anything to them, same with our voices?!” they murmured, eyes looking towards the pile of rubble, hoping they were truly dead. 

“Perhaps absorb more dragon souls, I will blame that on our lack of firepower, literally.” He said, hands falling to his hips. “As well as your usage of a non-full shout, you must hone your voice before calling upon it again. Tell me, Dovahkiin, how many shouts do you know?”

They thought about it for a moment. “Dragon souls would amp up our power, but I feel like I’m still weak from our previous fight, like, sort of drained?” they pondered aloud. “And… I know 9 full shouts, including yours. I know parts of the words of other shouts, Fire Breath is one, and…” 

Miraak looked at them questioningly.

“I can’t get the end of the Dragon Aspect shout correct for the life of me!” they said, gazing towards him, seemingly enviously. When they had first met, he had used his Dragon Aspect shout to be overdramatic and seem powerful, because admittedly, it was a hard shout to master. “But, other than that, I’m sure I have a lot of shouting practice under my belt, but it’s always good to add more!” 

He pondered their words for a moment, his brain hatched an idea and he leaned in towards them slightly. “If you would like, I could teach you a bit.” he murmured to them. A tiny voice in the back of his mind angrily asked what he thought he was doing, but it was too late, nor was he going to listen to said voice. 

He felt their soul flare to life and it was as if the wind that the Seekers were knocking into him were bursting off their body in excitement. “What? Really!” their voice was saturated with genuine excitement, and he felt the same excitement. “I… I would need to give you something in return, is there anything I could teach you? Anything I could give?”

Miraak bit his lip. He hadn’t considered it. What did he want… What did he want? He wasn’t sure. “You needn’t give me anything in return.” he said, calmly. “Just continue to give me more time with you, that’s all I ask.” He hadn’t realized exactly what he said until the Dovahkiin let out a gasp, which he quickly reflected as he crossed his arms in a closed-off, grumpy fashion.

“I! I’d be more than happy to!” they cheered, their mask betraying no such excitement, and he wished he could see them grinning. He hoped they could feel his happiness, but at the same time he didn’t. Ever since he had entered their presence he had felt every single range of emotions, from when they first met it was anger and outright fury, down to slight irritation as they began to travel, and only days afterward they were making him feel the complete latter, nothing but strange surges of affection. He had taken into consideration that they’d felt the same, he was certainly nothing to love at the beginning, but their kindly attitude was unwavering and he felt more in touch with himself that he had in awhile. At the same time, though, he was begrudging and didn’t want to show that part to them, just yet. While their sweet demeanor was good enough, he was still slightly alarmed by them, they were so disarming yet so… strangely worrisome. He still couldn’t place it, and he couldn’t even understand what it was. He would have to think on it later.

“Let’s return to Windhelm to give this to Brelas!” they said, a smile in their voice. “She and Malborn definitely deserve to head to Morrowind. The two have been through too much stuff here.”

“Let us be on our way then.” he said, allowing them to get moving first, and he tailed them. 

As the two walked away from the cavern and into the snowy forest that surrounded it, they felt a bit more restless about the Seekers and Hermaeus Mora, but a lot less restless about each other. There was something to look forward to now in their future.

“We’ll have to figure out about the Seekers later, I’m not sure who we could even question at this point about it.” Ypsilon pondered aloud. “Maybe… the Mage’s College would know something. Or have some kind of deterrent.”

“Seekers are strange. I didn’t expect them to ever be able to leave Apocrypha.”

“They’ve never left?” 

“No, I assumed they were confined to Apocrypha alone, and that it was thus impossible to leave. Lurkers on the other hand, they can leave, it would be preferred to not combat those.” he said, following after them.

They approached the road, and a horse-drawn carriage passed by on their left as they headed toward Windhelm and the two went silent momentarily, hoping passerbys would not listen to their conversations or point the authorities in their direction.

“I wouldn’t want to be stomped on by a giant slimy fish man, either.” Ypsilon muttered. “I guess we’ll figure out eventually…?” Oh, how they wished Mora would leave them both alone.

“Truths will be revealed within due time.” Miraak said, sounding more like a threat than a hopeful thought.

They both quickly went quiet again, the looming walls of Windhelm were in sight, and Ypsilon hoped that Lurkers and Seekers wouldn’t dare to surface in such a heavily populated place.


	6. Under the Starry Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My best writing always happens when two people are just laying there talking. Fun times.

The horizon was a pinkish orange hue as the sun began to set, the sky’s clouds being lightly illuminated a soft, candied color. The wind pushed at some of the looser, fresher snow, causing it to blow around in flurries. The clouds were softer, less snow-ridden, and they lazily moved along, the weather conditions were definitely about to get a bit better. Outside Windhelm was mostly quiet, and the two companions stood together.

Malborn and Brelas had just left off to Morrowind, going to create a new and safer life far, far away from the political troubles in Skyrim. I mean, who could blame them? Both Brelas and Malborn had been incredibly thankful, Brelas feeling sad about being unable to repay the adventurers, but Ypsilon just given her a dismissive wave, telling her that it was fine that they really didn’t need any payment. The two had long vanished, far and out of sight, and Ypsilon shift from foot to foot restlessly.

They were tired and uncomfortable, they wanted to go home, but part of them didn’t want to take Miraak with them into the city they resided within. The city was Whiterun, and it was a bit of a distance away, and Ypsilon was very amicable with every single person that lived there. The Jarl of the Whiterun, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, had grown to be a good friend of Ypsilon’s, and so had everyone other important person in that city. Ypsilon was a Thane, essentially a highly-regarded hero of the town, and they owned a little house there. Their housecarl, a young woman who’d been promoted to a higher ranking upon them becoming Thane, stayed in that house, and was another extremely good friend. Her name was Lydia, and Ypsilon would honestly consider her one of the closest friendships that they’d been in. Of course, Ypsilon had to remind her that titles and servitude-y topics were not necessary, and the kindly housecarl was quick to abandon all the overly giving and overly polite demeanor once reminded. 

They didn’t want Miraak to take that away from them. 

Not that they didn’t trust him, they trusted him at his current state, also that they were far, far away from anyone who really knew Ypsilon. They didn’t want him either embarrassing them, and they didn’t want the blame for releasing him pinned on them if he did something wrong. They were so unsure, and they quietly headed down the road, their head spinning with all the thoughts that were within. 

Miraak quietly followed them, they wish he’d speak or start a conversation or something so they could get their mind off all these worries. They looked at the sky, it was beginning to darken and they sighed, time to set up camp. Hopefully, tonight wouldn’t be a total snowstorm, they wanted to have an easy night. Maybe some light snowfall would be nice… 

… …

The two had managed to set up camp and get a campfire burning before the sun was completely gone. The campfire crackled and was generally uplifting, and the two sat around it, warming their hands and munching away on some more dried food. It felt quiet, but not awkward, just… quiet. Ypsilon wanted to say something to him, but they weren’t sure where to begin. They wanted to sleep so badly, but they also didn’t want to deal with much, they were unsure what to do with him, and what would become of him. 

While they were deep in thought, Miraak’s voice cut into their internal monologuing. “When did you find out you were Dragonborn?” he asked.

They thought back to that day, it was stormy and terrifying, honestly. “It was not too long ago, I had only been unfrozen for a few months, and I was protecting these people from a Dragon. It was talking to me, but I of course didn’t know what it was saying…” they said, thoughtfully. “After it was killed in such a long fight, it began to glow and its flesh and blood evaporated, leaving only bone. And then y’know… the soul devouring thing? That happened. I feel like it was just a few weeks ago, but it’s probably been about a year since then...” 

Miraak drew a breath. “Your awakening was at the same time as you slayed a dragon… how intriguing…” he murmured.

Ypsilon flopped backwards onto a bedroll placed on the older snow, their arms stretched out from their sides, and stared up at the stars. “I guess I just needed that little push…” they said, their voice soft. “What about you? When did you come to the realization of it?”

Miraak was silent, and Ypsilon stayed silent, wondering if it was even okay to ask him. “I… can’t recall.” Miraak’s voice picked up again, and Ypsilon listened in closely, his voice seemed clouded, confused. “Although, my revelations were most likely not triumphant or relieved. I believe that I once thought being Dragonborn was the ultimate curse. Perhaps there was some pride mixed in, but I can’t remember.”

Huh… That would make sense. “Being Dragonborn has been something…” Ypsilon began, looking up at Miraak from where he sat across the fire. “People revere you, talk to you as if you’re high and mighty, or they talk down to you, not believing you. There was never an inbetween. And there was no one to ever talk to about it. No one knew much on Dragonborns or being Dragonborn, for obvious reasons, I know. But even people who did know, like the occasional mage would seem to interpret my urges to talk about it as a way to fuel their magic experiments. It’s been a curse for me, in this world I have no one to talk to. I can talk to the friends I have, but they won’t totally understand.”

“You fear lack of companionship over the fear of losing yourself to your own dragon soul?” Miraak says, his voice is soft, it almost catches them off guard.

Ypsilon nodded, “Yeah, I do…” they trailed off, and Miraak gave them a light chuckle. “Well! What about you then? You don’t seem like a real people-person at all, Miraak…”

Miraak’s breath hitched, and his tone changed. “I don’t require companionship, I am… or was a Dragon Priest.” he said. “I’d prefer to put my time and energy into honing myself alone and keeping my wits about me.”

Ypsilon sat up, getting into comfortable position. “But… Miraak, you really don’t want to be alone do you? After all that time alone in Apocrypha…?”

Miraak was silent and he went stiff. “I was hoping that we could talk more about being Dragonborn, that we could come to some kind of understanding... “ Ypsilon knew they’d regret letting their words out. “People can’t be alone forever, really. I am and was the same, I want to be alone and avoid people, civilization, but we’re similar, Miraak, really. And we haven’t been together for long, but I’d like to consider you a friend. When you’re in good company, companionship isn’t too bad, really…” 

He was completely quiet for a moment, and then Ypsilon watched as he got to his feet, and moved closer to them, they looked up at him for a moment, somewhat worried, but felt at ease as he came to sit down. “I. Suppose things change.” was all he uttered. 

Ypsilon gave him a slight nod. “Of course they do, everything changes with time, and people are no different…” they were suddenly struck with an idea. “Miraak, lean back, you should look at the stars.”

Miraak watched intently as they laid back down, and he followed suit once they had happily sprawled out. They pointed upwards, tracing a constellation with their fingers. “The stars changed too since the last time you saw them, yeah?”

“Probably.” Miraak said, unable to completely remember them. “I cannot recall…”

“I could show you all the constellations, or at least point a few of them out!” Ypsilon said, getting a bit comfortable, their eyes scanning above. “I’m no astronomer, though, I don’t know everything there is to see…” 

“Learning it from you would… be nice.” he said, somewhat annoyed with how stiffly he had worded that.

Ypsilon just nodded lightly, and then gestured up above, tracing a couple lines between the largest few stars. “I know that since it’s currently Evening Star, the Thief Constellation is out…”

“The Thief Constellation doesn’t look like anything.”

“Wait, wait, hold on…” Ypsilon murmured, looking towards him and wiggling a bit closer to rest a hand on his wrist, and lifting his arm up for him to point with. He surprisingly sat there limply, allowing them to go on about it. “I know I’m not seeing through your eyes but… let’s see…”

They tried their hardest to properly trace the lines between the few stars that made up the Thief Constellation, their fingers gently pressing against the soft part of his wrist, which they could feel through the cloth of his robes. As they directed him, they noticed his pulse heighten, going faster, and they felt a similar reaction within themselves. “And… there.” They finished tracing the constellation, and they lowered both his hand and their own.

“I see now…” he murmured, his voice clouded like he was thinking.

“Yeah, you can see the cloak and the hood traced somewhat.” 

“Along with the knives the thief is holding.”

“Well! It wouldn’t be a thief without a tiny but sharp weapon!”

Miraak let out a small laugh and then was quiet for a moment and Ypsilon relaxed greatly, their hands now lightly resting on his wrist, the grip no longer there. They felt as his hands moved up to reach theirs, his fingers moving along, and then holding theirs in a tight grasp. They felt themselves blush slightly, remembering the warmth of his pulse. 

“What sign were you born under…? Do you remember that?” Ypsilon asked, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“... I don’t think I can recall…” he said, his voice becoming cloud again, and Ypsilon nodded. They felt like they were pushing him and they felt sad. He probably didn’t remember his birthday. 

“That’s okay!” Ypsilon said, a smile in their voice. “Maybe if there’s a day you find that you like, then you can have that one…?”

“If there’s any dates that peak my interest I can assure you I’ll take it.” 

They felt his thumb rub on the back of their hand, his fingers entwining with their own. They felt like they didn’t have a care in the world. Miraak made them feel funny, they had so many mixed emotions on him, and it seemed like he had the same for them…They felt sleep start to crawl into them, they felt their eyes get heavy from behind their mask, lulled simply by his presence. They felt him shift, and they hoped he wouldn’t let go, and he didn’t completely leave, he just seemed to be getting more comfortable.

They wanted to get up and crawl into the tent, just because it was more reasonable, but they were happy in the cold, and also with Miraak right next to them. Their eyes fluttered shut, the external glow vanishing, and they heard Miraak let out a light huff. They laid their head on his chest, and one of his hands came to rest on their side. 

“Dovahkiin,” Miraak began, his voice gentle. “Being Dragonborn made me expect to be the only one of my kind. You change that.”

“Is it a good thing or a bad thing?” Ypsilon asked, their voice quiet, tired.

“ _ Pruzah _ , good.” He continued to switch in between Dovahzul as he spoke. “Along with your thu’um I wish for you to hone your dovahzul so we can speak as Dragonborns should.”

“I do need to work on it... “ they admitted, their voice lazy, tired. They didn’t pronounce things fully. “I haven’t really considered I’d have to use it, all the Dragons also speak common tongue, so…” They felt foggy suspicion go into them. “Is there a reason why you want me to learn it?”

“I want you to be able to understand when I call you  _ hahnulovaas,  _ Dovahkiin.” Miraak murmured, his voice becoming quiet as he grew more tired. 

“Is it an insult?” Ypsilon echoed, confused.

“You will learn in time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahnu = dream & lovaas = song  
> i just mashed two words together and crossed my fingers that it'd be a cute petname and luckily... i think it fits slightly.  
> Supposed to be like they're dreamy and its kinda like a song that plays over and over and is good. Idk oddly abstract I suppose, but I thought it was sweet :>


	7. A Visit With Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bye binch.

The wind blew lightly, the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance, and Ypsilon blinked their bleary heavy eyes. They felt disoriented, their mask slightly askew on their face, and they snapped the piece back into place. It took them a moment to realize that they had fallen asleep outside and they slowly came to, and sat up straight. 

The campfires’ embers were dull and dead, and the tent sat, the flap closed now. Sleeping out in the cold had left them feeling worse than they expected. They felt unrested, and their dreams were haunting, but they couldn’t even begin to remember the dreams. Their throat was dry and felt clogged, and they cleared it, pulling a waterskin from the little knapsack with all the food and drink to quench their thirst. Glugging it, some excess water rolling down their chin, they felt a little better, but still exhausted. They looked at the space next to them, wondering why they felt so wrong.

“Miraak…?” their voice sounded weak in their throat. 

No response, silence, nothing. They stumbled to their feet, waterskin gripped in their hand, and wobbled over to the tent, opening the flap of the tent. No, he wasn’t here either. They wrinkled their nose, wondering where he’d gone of to. He probably got up early to take care of something, they thought, removing their large pack from inside the tent to start taking down the helpful structure. Hopefully, he’d return soon, and they could head out.

They destructed it with ease, folding it up, luckily their mind was feeling clearer, and they felt more coordinated as they dismantled everything. They opened their pack, to put the tent roll inside, but a creased paper fell from the strap. They furrowed their brow, picking the paper up from the snow, unfolding it gingerly. Their gut wrenched as they read it, and they felt the sickness they felt earlier return like a blast of a Dragon’s Fire Breath. 

A note. From Miraak. Their mind was spinning, thoughts becoming disorganized, lost. Their feelings washed over them and they felt a mix of anger and also sadness. Written in rigid, messy handwriting was “Thank you for your time, Dovahkiin. Although, I’m afraid it won’t continue. Forgive me.” And that was it, nothing else. 

They let out a growl, crumpling the paper, and tearing at the paper ball with their nails. How dare he?! They thought, their mind swimming with literally every outcome that came from this. It wasn’t expected. Why? Why did he do this? Their anger quickly turned to sadness and they felt a tear roll down their cheek on the inside of their mask. They sniffled, lifting their mask slightly to wipe at it, then suppressing further tears. Ugh, the closeness they’d felt to him, it felt awful now. There was no reason for them to have felt so overly close, they didn’t even fully trust him… Bad decisions galore, huh? They shuddered, hoping he wasn’t up to something nefarious. Their gut twisted with worry, but hey, at least he wouldn’t ruin their life in Whiterun, right? Not right, their hands shook, and they moved towards the nearby river, which was luckily just down the hill and over the road. 

They dipped their hands in the running water, it chilly and nice, and they looked around, and when they were sure that no one was watching, they removed their mask. They splashed the cold water on their face, rubbing at their eyes, feeling a soothing chill set in. A finger fell to their lips, and they touched the dry surface, feeling uncomfortable. Their body felt like it was shaking from the inside out, and it wasn’t with the cold. After replacing their mask, they went back to camp and picked up their bag, making sure they left nothing behind. 

The only thing on their mind was to get home to Whiterun, to lay in their bed, and to be around friendly faces, and to hunt with Lydia. To be able to get distance from Solstheim and the cold tundra of Windhelm. A change of scenery would be so nice, they thought, and the slightly warm plains of Whiterun was what they needed. They left toward Windhelm’s stables, which was luckily just north of the campsite. They planned on taking the wagon home, they weren’t mentally awake enough, and they needed to conserve their energy. 

… …

 

Ypsilon had arrived at Whiterun by about mid-day, and the sun was at its highest point in the sky, beaming brightly on the plains. They had packed all their things, said goodbye to the helpful wagon driver, and headed into the walled city through its large wooden gates.

Whiterun wasn’t too huge, wasn’t too small. The entry area was bordered by various shops and the guard barracks, one could hear the clang of metal loudly from the blacksmith who was working right nearby. Residents went about their lives heading around, leaving to trade, a few looking at Ypsilon to say greetings and one of the guards welcomed them home, which they gave him a light nod and word of thanks. As Ypsilon passed into the area known as the Plains District, the blacksmith looked up from her work, and waved at them, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a gloved hand. They gave her a big wave back, and they kept going, their home was right next to her shop, actually, and they walked up the couple steps to the small abode, unlocking the door with the key they kept on their belt.   

As they stepped into the dim, candlelit house, and lowered their pack off their shoulders, Lydia came down the stairs, her expression that of concern, but also curiosity. “Welcome back, my Thane, you’ve been gone for what…about half a year?” her tone started politely, but it was lighthearted as her words concluded. Lydia was a young Nord woman, with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair, with kind, silver eyes and smile lines. She stood tall, and was clad in steel armor, her sword at her hip. Ypsilon was glad to see her.

Ypsilon began to pull things out their bag to put away. “Oh? Has it really been that long?” they sounded confused, more disoriented than usual, and Lydia took note of this.

“It has!” Lydia said, bewilderment gracing her features. “I thought we’d heard the last of you!”

Ypsilon felt themselves shake slightly, and they dropped the tiny pouch they were pulling from their bag. It hit the floor with a clattering sound, whatever was within was metal, and Lydia went to Ypsilon’s side, putting an arm under their armpits to support them. She’d never seen them this tired, she thought, noticing that they didn’t move from her grip. They snatched their mask off their face, and put it on the nearby table, their body suddenly so heavy, so weak. They couldn’t understand why this was happening. Was it all this emotion and just the fact that they were so exhausted? Maybe sleeping outside wasn’t such a good idea in the first place. 

“You don’t look so good…” Lydia murmured, supporting most of the Dragonborn’s weight. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

Lydia carefully maneuvered to help Ypsilon up the stairs, who was quiet, not protesting. She walked them to their room, and when the bed was in reach, they were quick to crawl into it, sprawling out on their back. Lydia gave them a knowing smile, before going to kneel at the side of the bed and pressing the back of her hand to their forehead.

“Hm… not running a fever…” she said, pressing her own hand to her forehead. “I suppose I could get Danica to look at you?”

“No, no!” Ypsilon chirped, closing their eyes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, just… so so tired.” 

Lydia gave them another smile. “You’ve been gone for awhile, I can see why you’re tired!” she said. “You’ll have to tell me all that happened on your adventures after you get some sleep!”

Ypsilon leaned their head to the side. “Aww…I am pretty tired, honestly.” they murmured, ready for a nap. 

“Have a nap,” Lydia said, “I can bring a few friends along to see you later, so you can tell all of us.”

“Uh-huh…” Ypsilon trailed off and was knocked out instantly.

After she was sure they were totally asleep, she left the room, closing the doors quietly, then returned downstairs. She went to their bag, opening the flap, and removing some of its contents to continue storing everything that needed to be stored away. Upon almost getting done, she pulled some saved food from a pack, storing that away for later, but noticed as the yams in question were.... Definitely strange… Was this what the Dunmer on Raven Rock ate…? Lydia noted to herself that she’d need to take their mask back upstairs for them.

… …

 

Ypsilon awoke to the noise of laughter and general merriness downstairs. They arched their back, stretching as much as they could, and they felt alive again, at least. The tiredness in their bones was now gone, and the worry clouding their mind had certainly lessened, but they forced themselves to push it away before they lost their wits. They blinked, wiping their eyes, and pulling their mask back onto their face. Lydia must’ve brought it up and put it on their nightstand.  

They got to their feet and left their room, heading downstairs to a warm sight. Two of the head members of the Companions Guild were sitting with Lydia, talking amongst each other and eating food. Upon them going downstairs, the three almost instantly took notice of them, and Vilkas got up and went to them, giving them a hearty clap on the back. “Long time no see!” he said, jovially, giving them a grin, and they removed their mask to return an equally happy smile. 

"Nice to see you again, Vilkas!” they said, their white eyes meeting the Nord’s amber ones. 

“Come, come, have a seat with us!” he said and Aela the Huntress patted the seat beside her, which Ypsilon took. 

Lydia passed Aela a sweetroll, and Aela gave her the tiniest nod. “Thank you, dear.” Aela used this uncharacteristically sweet voice at Lydia, and Ypsilon was somewhat startled, but they think they knew what had happened while they were gone. 

Ypsilon envied the sweetroll, and Aela seeing them staring at the sweetroll passed it over to them, a lazy smirk on her face. “Good to see you again, whelp.” Aela purred, her voice becoming the rough and tumble voice they recognized. “We’d bet money on how long you’d stay out in the ash, right Vilkas?”

Vilkas gave a quick pfft noise and nodded. “Yeah, we bet on how long you’d stay out there for, let’s just say… none of us won the bet. We did brawl in the hall for the money though, anyway, so it wasn’t a total waste.”

“It was a good fight! Anyways, if someone did we’d be paying them more money that we’re worth. You were gone for how long…?” she trailed off, not recalling the exact time.

“I think it had to be about half a year? Six months?” Lydia murmured, taking a drink of water from her cup.

Ypsilon nodded. “I think that sounds about right…” they murmured, wondering how they’d explain it, before realizing that if everyone bet on them in the Companions the winner was probably rich. “Wait! Who won the money though?”

“Farkas did.” said Vilkas, rubbing his temples, “I say he cheated though, he had no business taking us in a fight as a were-”

Aela was quick to hush Vilkas talking smack about his twin-brother. “-Where he fought us was inside, for the most part.” Her green eyes looked towards Lydia who had gotten up and wandered over to go mess with the weapons on the weapons racks. 

Smooth Vilkas… Ypsilon thought, and they rolled their eyes. Of course, no one could tell this because they had no pupils. Ypsilon wondered if Lydia knew about the… Lycanthropy. Probably not, but it would be good to know just in case there was ever a random transformation issue and-.

Ypsilon’s thought process was cut off by Vilkas’ voice. “So, you want to give us the rundown of what happened on Ash Island?” he asked. 

Lydia returned to the table, the chair making a loud noise as she pulled it out. “It’s about time we heard about your adventures!” 

“If it’s good enough, we’ll sing of your glories.” Aela said, jokingly making dumb fight-y Nord talk and Vilkas cracked a grin. 

“Well… Let’s just say that it wasn’t a pretty place, it was actually kind of sad?” Ypsilon began, and everyone began to listen intently. “I was harassed by these weird cultists, right, and they had taken a boat from Solstheim to get here, so I hired the same captain that they had apparently… mind controlled to take them here.”

Aela quirked an eyebrow at the phrase mind control. It seemed like she thought it was creepy.

“And so I go, and I’m asking about Miraak, and no one, literally no one knows who this guy is, but they all feel like somehow this name is familiar.” 

“Creepy…” Vilkas echoed, and the two other seemed to be in agreement.

“So, cue me walking around, asking everyone and I almost bump into this Dunmer who’s acting like a total zombie, and repeating this weird mantra over and over and over again as they pick up supplies, right?” they were trying to remember the mantra. “So I follow them, and they’re building this weird arching religious-looking monument thing around a weird glowing green stone that sits in this weird slimy puddle.”

“Not only creepy, that’s gross.” Aela muttered. “Do you remember the mantra?”

“Hope you didn’t get your feet in there.” Lydia shuddered at the thought.

Ypsilon shook their head. “No, but maybe I will eventually, it was weird…” they thought about how explaining this was going to go, and they wondered if they should even mention that Miraak was on the loose in Skyrim now. They shook themselves, change focus, stop. “So, basically they were being mind controlled to go work on these things by the person who sent the cultists after me?”

They wonder how much detail they should go into and then they take a long drink of water, clearing their throat for more speaking. The other three were munching away and drinking as they listened. 

“Well, long story short, an old Dunmer Wizard from the Telvanni house was there studying the people, and asked me about what I was doing there. I asked him if he knew anything about ‘Miraak’ to which he said. “ they did their best impression of a the crotchety wizard’s voice. “‘Well… this may make absolutely no sense, but Miraak’s been dead for thousands of years.’”

“Unf, Undead Lich, I call it. It has to be that.” Vilkas spoke up again, and Aela gave him an elbow jab to the ribs. He laughed and took a drink from his mead bottle and Aela shook her head, laughing as well.

Ypsilon smiled and shook their head. “Well…No, not really, he wasn’t undead at all. Actually very much alive after many thousand years. He ended up being the ‘First Dragonborn’.”

Vilkas looked like he was about to spit up his drink, and Aela looked bug-eyed. Lydia’s eyes were startled and her mouth was set into a long, straight line, and everyone stared at Ypsilon as if their nose had just grown 2 feet for their lies.

“First… First Dragonborn…?” Lydia said, shock in her voice. 

“And still alive at that!” Vilkas said, bewildered. 

Aela narrowed her eyes and squinted. “Go on, share more.”

“Well. First Dragonborn, yeah. He apparently rebelled against the Dragons when they ruled over people, but it was only possible because he got allured by a Daedric Prince into a life-sealing pact. He was dressed like a Dragon Priest, purple robes and mask and everything, but he wore more… shirts and pants, it was weird. He had a lot of gold on him too, especially the mask.” 

Everyone was silent. It seemed it was worse than they had expected.

“He was trying to use the people to build around the stones so he could come back to the real world, if all these little monuments were built, he could return in full power. So for a while, my time was spent discovering these stones, helping people, and I even helped revitalize their town a bit.” they were more triumphant about helping all the people. “I was able to find out that within their mine was a hidden passageway and their mine had gone dry right? There is still so, so much ore down there, and I helped them clear a path. There were tons of Draugr though.”

Aela nodded. “Yeah, undead is a constant, even in Ashland.”

Ypsilon nodded in agreement. “It's a nightmare.” they said, continuing their story. “So after I destroy the stones, a giant weird fish-y demon thing with 10 pairs of eyes and this HUUUGE maw of teeth comes out of the slimey puddle the monument is being built in and? It was so gross, you would not believe how long it took for me to put that thing down. It had at least 10 guards on it along with me, and it was a mess.” they sighed. “I had to do that five different times, with more powerful Lurkers everytime.”

Aela shook her head and Vilkas looked like this was the simultaneously the worst but most impressive thing he’s ever heard. Lydia was still wide-eyed, but she’d tasked herself with eating a bit of a venison chop, and was struggling to get the meat off the bone.

“So, the wizard comes back to me and the two of us go to get a Black Book, which are tomes of Forbidden Knowledge, as well as being a bridge to the realm of said Daedric Prince. So I need to go through there to go to fight Miraak, who is currently trapped within this realm. I learned how to ride a dragon though, that was fun.” Ypsilon cleared their throat, they would have to tell them that they had saved him, huh? “Well, the fight went on for a bit, and geez. He was tough, he was probably the most…Able enemy I’ve ever fought.”

Aela gave her smirk. “Glad to see I can tell you’ve progressed from a whelp, Ypsilon.” 

“It seemed just like yesterday we were out in the training yard and you had never held a 2-handed weapon in your life.” Vilkas laughed.

“Hey! I still knocked you off your feet!” they said.

“You’re a good shield-sibling, what could I say?” Vilkas chuckled. “You were already pretty good from day one, I’ll admit it.”

“I already had practice, Lydia helped me with that!” 

Lydia nodded. “If they’d gone with you guys earlier you would’ve chewed them up and spit them out because they never used any melee weapons prior.”

“Only magic and archery, sometimes bound weapons.” they said, and Vilkas jokingly said “Doesn’t count.” and Aela nodded. Ypsilon felt indignant for a moment, but then nodded that a conjured weapon tended to require less handling knowledge than a real metal one. 

“Anyways, he was strong, and he used his shouts so many times, it was almost shocking. He was letting lose fire columns and ice spikes and cyclone-whirlwhind things it was tough to dodge. After the beginning of the fight was me doing a waiting game, he was arrogant… and cocky.” they said, replaying the fight in their head. “I watched him for the most part, at the start I swung at him and hit him a few times, but he could protect himself. He was able to don this weird glowing dragon armor, calling it on with a shout.”

“It took a bit, but within due time I had tricked him into trying to kill a fake Iceform of myself, and then shattering it upon him bringing down his sword. I hit him with a few arrows and he was downed. It was so long, I’m sure he was exhausted…” They felt themselves soften up a bit, and they felt bad for talking about this. They wished that this hadn’t happened, that the two hadn’t had to fight.

Lydia noticed them trailing off, and before she could ask any further, there was a heavy frantic knock on the door, which she quickly turned her attention to. Aela and Vilkas practically leapt to their feet, and Ypsilon quickly and easily latched on their mask to avoid any stranger seeing their appearance. 

“Open up!” said one of the voices of the guards. “We need you, Dragonborn!”

Lydia swung upon the door, a disheveled guard with his helmet off and tucked under his arm. His eyes were wide, terrified and Ypsilon came forward, Aela and Vilkas surprised. “There was a strange blue light that shot into the sky, I came running back to report it and the Court Wizard said it was a dragon being resurrected by Alduin.”

Lydia gasped. Ypsilon grabbed their weapons off the weapon racks as they spoke to the nervous guard. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out there in a second, where was the light from?”

“Somewhere around the mountains directly North of the city!” 

“The tundra?” Aela echoed. “Me and Vilkas will meet you there, Dragonborn.”

“Wait what?” Ypsilon questioned, the guard looking back and forth between the parties.

“You and Lydia can go on foot, the dragon may come towards the city, so you may have to intercept it.” Aela said, concocting her battle plan. “Me and Vilkas could easily get to its location-”

“We’ll flank it if need be.” Vilkas finished off her plan, and Aela nodded, that was what she was getting at. Good thing that her and Vilkas had trained together so much, they had that mental connection.

“Uh, that sounds like a good idea! Lydia are you prepared?” Ypsilon asked, looking towards their housecarl, who was grabbing her bow off the weapons rack.

“Never been more prepared!” she said, with urgency. “Let’s get going, then!” 

Aela and Vilkas had already brushed past the nervous guard, who bounced foot to foot. And, Ypsilon and Lydia practically launched out the house’s front doors. Ypsilon was quick to shut the door with their foot, locking it with the key and shoving it into their closest pocket. Their eyes focused on the horizon, and they could see the light, faint, but definitely there. A thin blue trail that shot into the sky. 

“Be safe, heroes!” The guard said and he looked towards the other guards directing people to stay closer to their doors and prepare water buckets in case of emergency. He joined in, and the blacksmith, Adrianne, passed him some extra buckets to pass out. Ypsilon watched her as they ran off, she was sharpening her blade, trying to be prepared. 

The guard pondered as the four left in different directions, and he noticed that Aela and Farkas had definitely not exited through the front and only gates. “Why… did they smell like dogs?” he asked himself, before shaking off the weird thought and going to assist the townspeople.

Ypsilon and Lydia burst past the gates, running as fast as they could down the steps, along the stone walls, and out into the Whiterun plains, trying to go as fast as they could towards the area that the guard had directed them. The two kept their eyes trained on the skies, and it was alright, it was still, quiet, nothing was wrong. 

The run was hard on the lungs and they had to slow to a brisk pace, the light was dwindling and Ypsilon watched as it sparkled and flashed out completely, gone from existence. They scrunched their features. That dragon was hopefully not up to anything bad, maybe Alduin just had resurrected a friendly dragon on accident, and there would be no fight, maybe Ypsilon could just talk with it. 

“Ypsilon! Look!” Lydia said, pointing towards the snowy, tundra-y hill that rolled up on the horizon. 

Ypsilon squinted, and noticed two very large wolves, one a light brown, the other black as night, barrelling down the hill, running towards them speedily. Lydia readied her sword, but Ypsilon blinked and realized it was Aela and Vilkas, moving quickly to them. 

“Wait, Lydia, it’s okay.” Ypsilon was unsure how to explain that the two who had just been sitting and eating with them were actually werewolves.

“Is it them?” she asked. “Sorry, my eyes are going bad.”

Ypsilon was confused. “You mean Aela and Vilkas?”

The two massive werewolves stayed on all fours as they padded up to the two. Aela pressed her muzzle against Lydia’s thigh, trying to get her attention. Lydia looked at the wolf, and then smacked herself on the forehead with an open palm. “Oh! Wait, wait that’s right.” Lydia dropped the pack on her back and pulled some spare clothes out of it. 

Vilkas began to destransform, his body shuddering and contracting strangely to reveal his human form, and Lydia quickly tossed him a pair of worn but nice trousers, and he was quick to put them on, staying turned away from the group until it was buttoned up. 

Gosh, was Ypsilon relieved that she knew. Then why had Aela done that earlier… huh…

Aela transformed, and was quickly putting on clothes held by Lydia when Vilkas’ voice rang clear, it was rough, like he’d been breathing so heavily it had hurt his throat. “Ypsilon, you need to follow us. There’s something you need to see.”

Aela got up, wearing a simple cloth shirt and trousers as well. “Follow us.” she said, her voice concealing whatever emotions she was feeling. 

Ypsilon nodded slightly, and Lydia followed suit, and the two Companions trudged up the hill and towards a large indentation in the ground. Ypsilon stared at it, they thought it was the burial mound for a moment, but the destroyed land, the uneven placement of dirt, and lack of ceremonial stones confused them, and then it hit them. This was where a dragon had skidded in a crash landed… 

“Someone… downed it?” Lydia said, confused, her eyes taking in the displaced land and destroyed flora.

“That’s not all,” said Aela, who pointed towards an area where the trees were knocked down and bent, pushed to the side as if destroyed by a dragon moving through it carelessly. 

Ypsilon tromped on over to the opening, spying through the part in the trees. They pushed past them, pushing the stray branches from in front of them, their feet scraping on the cracking wood. “What…?” 

They wish their eyes deceived them, they really, really wished that this wasn’t what had just happened. Laying before them was a skeleton, a massive skeleton of a dragon, what was left of its body contorted backward as if it had gotten slammed into by an unrelenting force. Of course, there was no blood, no flesh on the bones, no signs of scales or claws either…A dragon didn’t do that until they absorbed its soul usually, which meant…

Their heart pounded in their chest as they felt the other three come up behind them, and they heard Lydia gasp in surprise. 

“You’ve got some more explaining to do, huh, whelp?” Aela said, the sternness in her voice almost unbearable. “Too bad we got cut off earlier, huh?”

Vilkas was the next one to speak, his voice ringed with doubt and confusion, rather than sternness. “Purple robes, lots of gold…” his voice trailed off. “We heard shouting as we got here, and only caught a glimpse of the guy... “

Lydia looked confused. “You mean, thu’um shouting?” she asked.

Aela nodded. “It was a Shout, definitely. Unless there’s not a good explanation from this, we have a rogue First Dragonborn on our hands, and if that’s not the worst thing you’ve ever heard, I don’t even want to know what is.”

Ypsilon looked away, really distressed. “Well, I…” they gulped. “I may have saved him from his Daedric Lord captor and taken him to Skyrim with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually didn't edit this one because I didn't feel like reading it, so I do apologize for any weird writing?


	8. Jorrvaskr, Hall of the Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More conversation between characters and careful planning. Things are moving a bit slowly, and now we have a bit of a taste of Skyrim's main plot. This part is a bit abrupt because I barely explained anything in the previous chapters, whoops. I thought it would be an interesting thing though, to have both the threat of Alduin and Miraak lurking around.

Flickering candlelight lit the dining hall of the Companions as Aela paced about, she meandered back and forth deep in thought. The hall was huge, the wood roof concave, and the inside was well decorated and furnished, the dim light shining on the reds of hanging flags and the rugs. There were long tables, some had long benches to go along with it, meanwhile some areas had various chairs pushed into the table, or strewn slightly away from the table, askew. The tables had candelabras lighting the area, and bowls and platters of foods, such as apples, honey treats, and some stews. There were bottles of mead, flagons with drinks, and jugs of water, too.

 Ypsilon sat in one of the chairs, close to the head of one of the tables, meanwhile Lydia sat nearby with them, her chin resting on her hands. Things had been quiet as the three waited for Vilkas to reappear, he had gone to give the guards the all clear. There were no other people in the room, except for the elderly steward who was heading downstairs, aware that there was something that she wasn’t supposed to hear. Ypsilon felt dreadful, and was worried.

 Yes, Miraak had come back in full strength, yes, he was still capable of intaking dragon souls. He was still dangerous, and him taking a soul made him even more so. The speed at which he had slain the dragon was horrifying, and they wondered how he could make an escape so fast. They wondered if Hermaeus Mora was the problem, or if that he was assisting him again. They weren’t sure what to think, as they hadn’t heard his plans, nor could they really wrap their mind around his goals. What could be gained? Power? Most likely.

 One of the many doors to Jorrvaskr opened as Vilkas came in, closing the door behind him, not allowing it to slam shut from the weight of the wood door. His expression was calm, but tired, and he took a seat across from Ypsilon and Lydia, slouching noticeably as he took out his waterskin and drank almost half of its contents. 

 “Hey, Aela, come sit.” Vilkas said, patting the bench next to him.

 Aela shook her head, relocating her pacing to an area closer to where the three were sitting. “I think better on my feet, you know this.” Vilkas nodded, hunching over further.

 Ypsilon felt awfully for bothering her like this. “Sorry for concerning you.” they said quietly.

 Aela looked at Ypsilon and wrinkled her nose indignantly. “Save your apologies, please.” she said, uncrossing her arms and sighing out, expression relaxing. “Not concerned, just thinking strategically. If he’s anything you said he was, he’s strong, yes?”

 Lydia ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t think I understand your reasons for helping him.” she said to Ypsilon, lightly. “But, I trust your judgement in some respects. He didn’t stay and attack us, or you two, and he did kill a dragon that we were on our way to take care of.”

Ypsilon remained quiet, deep in thought, but thankful for Lydia’s different point of view. Their reasons had been poor, they just felt bad for him, it was a feeling even they didn’t understand. And now, they were paying the price for their choices. Somewhere, they hoped he actually wasn’t doing anything wrong, just meandering, fighting, not sure of his place in the world. They discarded that thought, he’d changed back into his Dragon Priest garb, which had to mean something significant. 

 Farkas’ entry broke the silence when the back door to the training field opened, the setting sun shining in behind him. Vilkas turnt away and Aela shielded her eyes and Farkas let out a laugh, before coming in and joining the four. “You’d think you were all vampires, not werewolves if you could see how you guys are acting.” 

 “Can it, icebrain.” Aela said, and Farkas smiled good-naturedly, only for Aela to huffily point to a seat. “Sit, we need to have a discussion. And a second opinion.”

 Farkas too was going to know of this failure? Ypsilon thought, slouching back into their chair, looking towards the ceiling. They heard the clang of Farkas talking his sword off the belt on his hip, and the heavy sound of him sitting down. “So what’s the news?” Farkas asked, getting comfortable.

 “Well, long story short, Ypsilon here brought home an ancient Dragonborn Dragon Priest from Solstheim. He was mind-bending the general populace.” Vilkas filled him in. 

 “Ah… he sounds like quite the uh. Guy.” Farkas said, blinking.

 “Said Dragon Priest was being held immortally by a Daedric Lord, and now is mortal again. He killed a dragon earlier, and absorbed its soul. And although Ypsilon thinks he’s powerful and possibly evil, me and Aela saw him, he definitely saw us, but he didn’t attack.” Vilkas finished, and his brother just nodded a bit. 

 Aela’s voice rang out. “We’re trying to figure out a plan of action, but I don’t know how we should even approach it. It’s not like we’ve dealt with this before, and we don’t know his motives.”

 Farkas looked to Ypsilon for information, but they just shrugged. “He was building these temples around these stones that are in Solstheim, trying to escape the Daedric Lord’s realm.”

 “You want to get old man Kodlak on this?” Farkas asked. “There’s nothing you can really do right now.”

 Ypsilon shook their head. “No, I’d rather not many people know. For all we know, he’s not doing anything, and we’re instilling hysteria in everyone.”

 Aela nodded in agreement, and Lydia leaned in. “Everyone’s already fearing about the dragons themselves already, so it’s best to keep this on the downlow.” Lydia said, her hand absentmindedly patting Ypsilon’s back. “I’ll follow their lead on this.”

 “I side with the whelp for now, but we’re playing a waiting game it seems like.” Vilkas said, his voice worried.

 "As do I, but you’d have to admit it would be best for someone else to know, say… the Jarl, at least.” Farkas said, looking towards Ypsilon. “It’d be best for you so you don’t have to explain yourself when it’s too late or too inconvenient. Plus the Jarl doesn’t need to be kept in the dark over something like this.”

 Ypsilon nodded. “You’re right, it may be best....” 

 “Jarl Balgruuf is a pretty reasonable man, so you should be alright, just give him all the details, you’ll be fine.” Aela said, affirming that they should speak to him. “On the other hand, we’ll all stay vigilant. But, on the other side of things, you’ve been trying to deal with the dragon menace and Alduin, no? What’s the progress on that?”

 Vilkas looked hopeful, and Ypsilon wished they had more progress and better news. “Well… I found an Elder Scroll, learned a shout called Dragonrend by the people who rebelled against Alduin, I fought Alduin once already, with the help of the Greybeards’ leader.” they omitted that their leader was a dragon by the name of Paarthurnax. “We were able to drive Alduin away, and weaken him, but he’s apparently now in Sovngarde, eating… dead souls that are trying to get to the Hall of Kings...”

 There was thick silence, and although Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela were definitely not going to Sovngarde, as they were werewolves, destined to hunt in Hircine’s world in their afterlife, they were still Nord, and the fact that all their dead were getting eaten upon their arrival into their heaven was disturbing. They didn’t seem happy about that, and the World Eater was truly an awful creature.

 “Not only is he going to be the cause of the end of the world, but he’s also eating those dying in the war, most likely.” Lydia murmured.

 “The death count is massive…” Aela breathed. “Why is he doing this? Out of spite? For Nords?” Aela demanded to know.

 Ypsilon shook their head, “It heals him and adds to his power, at least that’s what the Greybeards said.” they explained, body feeling sore as they remembered the strain of the fight. “The only way I could stop him is by going into Sovngarde, so you can imagine how that’s been progressing…”

 Farkas gave an uncomfortable laugh, before shaking his head. “Yeah, that sounds nearly impossible.”

 Lydia gave Ypsilon a thoughtful smile, and Ypsilon caught Aela looking sheepishly at Lydia, as if finding her smile endearing. “Well, if you’ve been able to fight Alduin once, you’ll do it again.” Lydia encouraged them, and Ypsilon noticed a visual change in the other threes expressions as she talked. “I have no doubts, what was the next step you had? Before you left for Solstheim.”

 “Thank you, Lydia.” they felt like their eyes were watering up a bit. “I was expecting to find information on Solstheim, but found little to nothing, luckily I was able to learn a few new shouts and hone my abilities, so I hope that the fight with Alduin will be possible.” they said. “The original plan was to capture a dragon up in Dragonsreach, and the Jarl agreed to it. Then the dragon would explain to me how Alduin got to Sovngarde.”

 “What had I said about the Jarl being a reasonable man…?” Aela said under her breath. It was understandable.

 Vilkas was quick to step in. “Dragonsreach was meant to hold a dragon, although in legend…” 

 “I wonder if it’s the truth,” Lydia said. “You never know if the stories were true or just to bring glory to the previous Jarls.”

 Ypsilon nodded. “I guess we’ll see…” they trailed off. 

 Vilkas grinned at them and lifted his goblet, taking a swig before saying “Good luck! May it be a good fight.”

 Farkas kicked back in his chair. “How do you intend to lure a dragon, anyways? Throw it a bone? Prepare meat?”

 “No, then every dragon would be appearing at our feasts.” Aela said. “I’m sure you have something planned, right, whelp?”

 Ypsilon nodded. “I have to shout for it, and apparently it’ll be either extremely curious and appear, or it will think that I’m challenging it, and come to take me up on that challenge. I could probably take it now, night is falling soon, but it may be best to do it as everyone will be safe in their homes, and not hear the dragon or be afraid.”

 “Seems wise to do it that way.” Aela said. “We’ll keep our ears and eyes open in case we need to call an evacuation.”

 Ypsilon was raring to get into action, they needed to go to Dragonsreach anyways, to speak with the Jarl. Perhaps it was better to do in the morning when everyone was alert. They assumed that the dragon could see in the dark better than anyone else, so maybe it was best that they waited until morning. They felt worry seep back into them, and they thought about how exhausted they were prior to their nap. There was the nagging feeling again, they always had it. The anxiety that came with being a Dragonborn. They were always on uncertain footing but it had allieviated ever so slightly when Miraak had come along... They felt hurt on the inside, but they attempted to can their worries with a deep breath before moving on.

 Lydia was aware of their tiredness and patted their shoulder. “It may be best to sleep before going, you weren’t exactly the most aware person earlier. Start in the morning, give yourself time and rest and food.”

 Ypsilon wondered if they could even sleep, but with Lydia’s reassurance they nodded at her. “That’s probably the best idea…” Ypsilon changed their plans. “Having everyone out and aware in case of emergency might be best, too. Houses could get burned down and… y'know…” 

 Aela looked thoughtful. “That’s true,” she admitted, she tapped her feet, and then sat down. “Go home and rest, Ypsilon, the rest of the guild will probably get home soon, so you may not want to get caught up.”

 “Yeah you’ll be hearing from all the other whelps about everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone, and it’s a lot.” Farkas said, giving them a smile. “Welcome home, shield-sibling.” 

 “Thanks, Farkas, and yeah… that’s true…” The other newer members of the Companions were friendly and talkative, Ypsilon thought.

 Lydia got to her feet, as did Ypsilon, and Vilkas and Farkas got to their feet as well. Vilkas gave Ypsilon a clap on the back that quickly became a hug, and Ypsilon thought that he literally smelt so much like a dog, it wasn’t even funny. Farkas on the other hand, gave them a salute and tough, firm handshake. 

 “Go get ‘em!” Vilkas said, grinning, and Farkas grinned too, they were startling similar looking, being twins of course, but their smiles were both different. Vilkas was toothier and wide, meanwhile Farkas’ smile was smaller, and a bit crooked.

 Aela came close to Ypsilon and held both their shoulders, catching them in her intense green-eyed stare. “You won’t lose with the training we’ve given you, ya hear? Rest up and arm yourself to the teeth, and there’s no way you’ll lose. Tell me you won’t fail... actually, promise me you won’t.”

 Ypsilon was glad that they were masked because they felt flustered as her encouragement hit their ears. “I promise I won’t lose, Aela!” they said, making their voice more serious, and Aela gave them a smile and released their shoulders.

 “Good, go get ‘em tiger.” Aela purred.

 Vilkas chuckled to himself. Aela wouldn’t call them tiger, cause they were wolves. Funny enough, she got that chance with Ypsilon and all the other whelps. He wondered how long she was saving that statement.

 Farkas looked to Lydia who had taken her place by the door. “Are you going with them, Lydia?” he asked, genuinely curious.

 “Afraid not, I’ll probably be staying home for the day.” Lydia answered. “I have some chores to run, some things to take care of, not to mention I doubt I should go with them into Sovngarde.”

 Ypsilon shook their head. “Too dangerous, I want to go alone so no one else gets hurt.”

 “As long as you come home safe, I have no problem with it.” Lydia replied. 

 Although Lydia seemed worried, she wasn’t protesting, even if she did want to come. Farkas shifted on his feet, hands resting on his hips. “Well, if you get a chance in between your chores you should come to the training field so we can all spar a bit. I’m sure you could beat all our whelps, Lydia.”

 Lydia looked at Ypsilon, then Vilkas and Aela, who seemed open to it. Ypsilon nodded, knowing that even if they were technically her employer, she still could do literally anything she wanted, and they’d have no problems, as long as she was safe. “Definitely, I’ll find some time in my _oh-so busy schedule_.” she said, joking by putting emphasis on her words.

 Vilkas said something under his breath to Aela, who’s expression became surprised and flustered, a blush covering her cheeks, and really contrasting against her dark green warpaint. She then shoved the silly wolf brother and he stumbled back a bit, elbowing her in the gut, which she leapt at him and the two began to rough house, targeting each others currently neat hair and their facepaint. 

 Lydia smiled at the two and Farkas looked at them, rolling his eyes. “See you two, and good luck. Sleep well.” Farkas said the pleasantries as Vilkas knocked a pitcher off the table, causing Aela to make a long drawn out exclamation of “OOOOOOO…”. The pitcher was not empty, and the contents spilled onto the wooden floor. Lydia glanced somewhat worriedly at the two, her cheeks lightly flushed. After Aela pinned Vilkas to the floor, however, Lydia’s expression became relieved, and Ypsilon thought she might cheer her on.

 “Thanks Farkas. Good luck to you too!” They said, and Lydia waved and the two left Jorrvaskr’s hall through the front doors.

 As the two came out into the night air, the breeze ruffling them both, Ypsilon sighed outwards. “Glad we could get out before the chaos got worse.” Lydia breathed, looking towards the sky. 

 “Me too…” they breathed, watching as a couple of the other Companions approached, Athis and Ria particularly, and the two gave them friendly smiles, waves, and greetings, which they returned, but luckily the two would rather be inside drinking and eating instead of outside in the cold air. Ypsilon was grateful for this, and the trip back home was quiet, Lydia keep her eyes on the stars, meanwhile Ypsilon beginning to feel the tiredness return to them.

 When they got back inside, they removed their mask, and gave Lydia a light smile. “Thanks for everything, Lydia.” they said taking off their boots at the door, and she did the same.

 Lydia after taking off her boots, she moved to the wash basin and cleaned off. “Not a problem, friend.” she murmured. “Now go up and get to bed, I can’t even imagine what’s waiting for you tomorrow. I’ll prepare provisions for you, just this once, I know you like to make your own.”

 Ypsilon gave her a grateful look. “Thanks for that, too.” they cleared their throat and then began to talk again. “Uh. Lydia, what do you think of the… Dragon Priest situation.” They moved towards the staircase, stopping at its base.

 Lydia was pulling salted meat from their storage spaces as she spoke. “Well… I’m not sure what to think.” she said, her voice low and calm. “I know you said it wasn’t a good idea, what you did, but if you made the call I’ll believe that there was something urging you to do such a thing. I don’t like the idea of having a bad Dragonborn against us, but I’m sure you’ll know what to do if the time comes where you have to go toe-to-toe with this guy.”

 Ypsilon nodded and they felt relief flood their body. “Yeah, thanks Lydia. Really, genuinely.” they said, wishing they had more words to give. “Good night, don’t stay up to late!” 

 “I won’t, Ypsilon.” she echoed as they went up stairs, and they felt relief. 

 As they opened the doors to their room, they removed their hooded mage robes slipping into a more comfortable blue robe that they kept as sleep clothes. They took off their bracers and closed their door, heading to the bed, and putting their mask on the bedside. As they curled up into bed, they turnt off the oil lamp that sat on the other side table and then brought the covers up to their neck, getting comfortable.

 Their mind danced with many thoughts, and they were considered all that happened. Miraak was something they wished had not come into play here, as they were already so stressed, but hopefully he’d be on the downlow during this time. They sincerely hoped he wasn’t up to anything, but the nagging feeling of it bothered them. And now they were thinking about Alduin and having to deal with the massive dragon god again, they felt worry, everything was worrying them. Their philosophy had been “just go with it” as there was nothing to do about being Dragonborn, they were fated for it, but it was becoming hard, not only progress-wise, but tolling physically. 

 They hoped that the dragon would listen to their shout, and that they would be able to get the information of Alduin from it. They also prayed that the Jarl would be unconcerned about the information of Miraak, and that he wouldn’t call off the dragon capture while they were at it.


	9. Dragon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More content that is mostly just a play on things from ingame content. A lot of the dialogue is copied and slightly changed, which I may go back in and change. Dialogue isn't necessarily my strong suit ^^;; 
> 
> Miraak continues to haunt their dreams and Ypsilon is beginning to get a lot of self-doubt because their usual plan of "Don't worry! Things'll just work themselves out!" is becoming not-so efficient.
> 
> The Odahviing design is based off of a [mod](https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/73225/) that I use for him, but of course the silverblood thing was just aesthetically pleasing. I'm also uncertain if he uses ice shouts canonly, I can't remember.
> 
> Dovahzul translations I'll place at the end!

The wind howled and blew snow all around, not stirring it into small flurries, but into massive snow cyclones that threatened to knock Ypsilon off the peak. They stumbled along, their footing not quite right, and they squinted from behind the eye holes of their mask. Their body felt frozen, not a good chill, but a painful one, as if ice spikes were being driven into them. They swore they saw  a glimpse of Paarthurnax watching them on his perch, but their vision kept blurring out as the blizzard blinded them, and suddenly the whole world went bright white.

 Their stomach lurched, and they did too, falling backwards into the snow. The world was so bright, like the hottest flames, and then it hit them. Alduin’s wings were the only bit of darkness in the sky of ultra heated embers, and his roar sounded, chilling them to the very bone. The world began to get duller, the sky looking less like it was exploding, just strangely overheated. Alduin’s massive dark wings flapped with astounding strength, and after looking at Ypsilon with his cruel, gleaming red eyes, he zoomed above them, letting out a loud shout.

 A swirling portal appeared above the mountain peak, dark, swirling clouds bordering it, and they immediately recognized this as his Storm Call shout. Rocks of molten fire began to rain down upon them and they jumped away, desperately trying to not get singed. It was in this moment that they realized their Clear Skies shout would be the cure to this terrible weather, but as they dodged past another one, a massive column of fire rushed towards them, catching them on their right side as they attempted to dodge it. They felt like they had done this before, this wound, it was something they had felt before.

 Paarthurnax flew into their view, their eyes trying to desperately discern him from Alduin, but for whatever reason, their eyes weren’t having it. They couldn’t grasp at why the couldn’t see, couldn’t hear fully, all of it was a dull roar of noise and blurred vision. They felt like the world was spinning and as they stopped paying attention their movements and steps fell into a rhythm. It was unpredictable, but everytime they knew what they were going to do next. Things were moving far too fast, and things felt too similar. Their shouts, their spells, their wounds that they gained, every time their hands felt to their quiver to pull out another arrow to shoot into Alduin’s hide. Everytime Paarthurnax got too close to their spells, every time he spewed golden flame at Alduin, every insult spat at the World Eater, and every bit of guidance shouted towards Ypsilon, it all felt planned.

 Alduin spewed yet again another column of flame, the torrent of fire bursting straight towards them, razing the snowy ground that was in its path.

 “Dovahkiin! Use the Dragonrend shout! If you know it!” Paarthurnax’s low voice could be barely heard over the roar of the wind.

 “ _Joor_ ”, Dragonspeak for ‘mortal’ they thought, and they didn’t know why it came to mind until the shout tore itself from their throat, somewhat catching them off guard. However, physically they were steadfast, and alright, however their mind felt like it was wobbling and melting.

 “ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ” The shout pushed straight past the fire, causing it to evaporate into nothingness, their word materializing into a glowing blue ball that smashed into Alduin, causing the sky around him to reverberate and visually alter.

 With a loud thud, Alduin came crashing to the ground, his body almost smashing Ypsilon underneath his wings. Pinned down by their shout, which was now manifested as a bright blue pillar of light pressing him down to the ground, forcing him to land. They luckily were able to dodge this and his tail pounded at the ground near them, trying to make them stumble as he clumsily turnt to face their direction. They bounded away from him, sure to release as many spells from their hands into him, and Alduin belted out another blast of fire before he was stopped abruptly by Paarthurnax’s flames. Ypsilon reading a spell in their hand, allowing it to charge to full strength before they released it, and Alduin let out a bellowing howl of pain as their ice spell struck him, and his body shook as the effects of the Dragonrend shout began to dwindle.

 He was quick to get back into the wind, his wings catching on all of the strong winds up at the highest peak in Skyrim, and he wheeled around, hovering above. “Dovahkiin!” he howled, his harsh voice booming over the roar of the wind and snow. “You may have bested me now, but I will come for the souls of your dead and eventually you, in Sovngarde!”

 And then, with a forceful beat of his wings, accompanied by the earth shaking roar he produced every time he opened his mouth, he flew away, his shadow vanishing on the horizon quickly. Their mind started to become blurrier, they felt fear and sickness creep into them, and suddenly they couldn’t stand, falling down onto the snow. This felt incorrect, not something that had happened.

 Their surroundings shivered again, as if the world was threatening to disappear, and their eyes caught on to gold and purple, intricate trim, and a gleaming, reflective mask. Here he was again... They felt like the world had just fallen out from underneath them, like the world was about to vanish entirely, but they were fine. While them falling to the ground and his sudden appearance was unscripted, the feeling of victory was not and it filled their mind and body with a new life and a new power flowed through them.

 They blinked, the world was replaced by their dimly lit bedroom, and they rubbed their bleary, tired eyes. Jeez, what a dream. As if it didn’t add to their already existing worries. Miraak just seemed to love haunting their dreams, as if he wasn’t mentally consuming their every waking moment. He dominated their sleeping dreams too… Worrisome, they thought. They couldn’t worry about silly feelings though right now, and rather they focused on the task at hand. Stretching and arching comfortably, although their dreams were uncomfortable and busy, they felt that they had actually gotten some rest this time around. They allowed themselves time to fully awaken, and then began a mental checklist on what they needed, making sure to keep Aela’s “armed to the teeth” strategy in mind. They wore a mix of heavy and light armor, good for movement and protection, along with bringing their bow and two quivers filled with arrows. They put as much as they could into their pack. They placed their mask on their face and stretched out a bit, surveying their room for more things they'd need. They were quick to opt to grab a magic staff, and they slid it into their pack. Just incase. They could never be too prepared.

 

… …

 

The sun wasn’t too high in the sky by the time Ypsilon walked up the steps to Dragonsreach. It wasn’t a long walk, just a steep one. Dragonsreach was the highest point in Whiterun, and the tall buildings of the castle-like structure loomed over both the Wind and Plains Districts. It made sense that Dragonsreach was in the Cloud District, you could see the rest of the city from here, and also outside the city. Ypsilon was fond of looking from Dragonsreach, and also looking at it from a distance. It felt like home.

They dodged past the guards, entering through the large doors, and entered the building. It was not too extravagant, but certainly higher class than the rest of the town. There were wooden supports holding up a tall ceiling, with equally tall frosted windows, that gave a nice amount of light. There were dark rugs, tapestries hung on the walls, and a couple people in common clothes were tidying up, not leaving a spot unclean. They walked along the main rug, climbing a few more steps up to the main room, where there were two long tables, bordered by chairs, and in the middle was a throne, in which the Jarl was sitting.

He leaned comfortably in his seat, gazing at the Dragonborn upon entering. Irileth, the Dark Elf housecarl and Jarl Balgruuf's second in command gave them a light nod, and they came closer to him, standing about 4 feet from his throne.

“Greetings, friend!” the Jarl said, his features contorting to give them a kind smile. “How have your travels been?”

Despite the lack of stiffness or need for formalities in his demeanor, Ypsilon still felt the need to speak with extreme politeness and they also were extremely worried about the issues that were about to be brought up. Their mind reiterated what they needed to do in order ‘travels, Miraak issue, and dragon…… travels, Miraak, dragon…’.

“They’ve been well, actually. Despite all that’s said about Solstheim, it was actually a really nice place. We got giant mushrooms houses, an exploding volcano… it was really different, if not intriguing.” Ypsilon admitted. “Thank you kindly for asking, friend. How’s things been here…? I hope that the Stormcloaks have laid off for the time being?”

Balgruuf nodded. “Indeed, it seems like it’d be much more… eclectic than what is usual around Skyrim. Not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all.” he sits forward in his throne, and continues to speak. “The Stormcloaks haven’t been an issue since the peace treaty you forced them to have with the Empire. But, as soon as this dragon menace is dealt with, Ulfric will be back on Whiterun’s heels, and his soldiers will have knives pressed to our throats.”

Irileth sighed, her dark red eyes looking irritated.. “I’d wish they’d stop to consider politics rather than just slamming tankards over each others heads and brandishing weapons.”

“Me too, Irileth, me too…” The Jarl said, his voice tired and annoyed, he too was feeling the pressure from the Stormcloaks. He quickly changed paces, and Irileth’s attention seemed to return to them, her eyes trained on Ypsilon. “Now, now, Dragonborn, were you here to speak of something important? I know you aren’t usually one for idle chit-chatter.”

Ypsilon nodded. “Well... “ they paused for a moment, thinking about whether or not to mention Miraak, mentally shaking themselves to get back into talking. “I wanted to catch the dragon today, were you all ready and prepared for it?”

The Jarl’s blue eyes widened and then he squinted, thinking. “We’ve been ready for a few weeks now, certainly. All the preparations have been squared away and made. We’re ready whenever you are.”

“It’s good to know that we’re prepared… Even though I was gone for so long...” Ypsilon said, mind drifting away from Miraak, focusing on the task at hand, they felt like he was the least of their problems right now, and they needed to get to Alduin before more dragons could be resurrected and he could get more souls. Not to mention they were being somewhat reckless and this would probably be a huge mistake. They removed the thought from their mind. “I’m ready now, definitely!”

“Honing yourself, I’m sure, we go on your call, so let’s head up to the balcony.” He got to his feet, latching his sword to his belt, he waved his arm at the Dragonborn, urging them to follow him up the stone staircase that was behind the staircase. “I’m sure you’re ready. Let’s catch us a dragon.”

“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf.” Ypsilon said, gladly. Thank the divines for him, he was a helpful man. They just hoped their own uncertainty didn’t injure others.

“And if these plans don’t work… Gods save us.” Irileth breathed, and Ypsilon absolutely agreed with her. While they were sure of what they were doing, they hoped nothing fell outside of the plan.

As the three moved through the stoney corridors, leading to two heavy stone doors, two guards pushed them open, revealing the outside. It was essentially a massive balcony, lined with nothing but stone, there was nothing that was flammable in sight, other than of course, a few tapestries bearing the Whiterun symbol, and everyone’s clothing at least. The balcony has huge walls that rose on each side except the far side, and it was covered with a roof, a massive archway leading towards the outside, and another smaller landing area. Ypsilon peered at a bunch of mechanisms lining the roof and they spotted chains and wood paneling, but they couldn’t make it out all the way. They watched as the two guards took their places on either side of the room, and they went forth, Irileth and Balgruuf not too far behind. Their feet made a clattering noise on the ground as they went towards the landing area, the distant rolling mountains towards the north clearly in sight. A couple guards stood on standby, peering around from behind their helmets, their weapons ready in case of emergency.

“Well. We’re ready to spring the trap whenever you summon your dragon.” The Jarl said, peering at the skies, his blue eyes glinting.

Ypsilon nodded. They took in a deep breath, and they realized that they hadn’t even practiced this shout, there was no way they could of. They thought about the shout a bit, pondering its meaning. The shout was the name of a dragon, Odahviing, apparently one of the older dragons from Alduin’s reign. He was an ally and the right-hand dragon to Alduin. Thus, he was definitely one of the more dangerous dragons. His name was the three words to the shout… Snow Winged Hunter was what it was, and Ypsilon thought about those words before letting the icy cold flow through their soul in order to properly attempt this shout. They pondered it a bit, and then they shouted towards the sky, dust and some dirt falling from the uppermost stones of the walls.

“ _OD AH VIING_!”

The guards shifted uncomfortably at the sound of their shout, the other two that were still inside craned their necks to peek. Ypsilon kept their eyes trained on the sky, their breath coming out huffily from behind their mask. They watched as nothing occurred, all was still quiet, far too quiet. It seemed as if the world held its breath before a distant and echoing roar sounded, and Ypsilon knew that this must be the lucky dragon.

One of the guards whispered to the other: “You heard that…?” he murmured, jolting as the roar sounded much closer.

Ypsilon was now glaring at the sky, unable to see the dragon or anything else, and then a woosh of air sounded, causing the building to tremble, and the massive beast zoomed directly around the balcony of Dragonsreach, veering in close and snatching the guard that had spoken in its hind claws, tossing him like a ragdoll. Ypsilon was shocked and suddenly the world was far from silent.

“Shor’s bones!” the other guard cried out, watching desperately as the other guard was snatched. “There he is!”

Ypsilon felt their body shudder as their mind began to replay the sickening crunch of the guard within the dragons’ claws, but they were quick to calm themselves and get into action.

“Steady…” Irileth warned, looking towards the Jarl who took charge.

“Steady, steady! Keep under cover until it’s down!” Jarl Balgruuf let out a shout towards his guards, who all rushed under the safety of the roof, ducking into cover as fast as they could.

The dragon wheeled on by again, the force of the wind its movements created causing both Irileth and Balgruuf to stumble back, their legs buckling under the sheer force. They held their weapons still and Ypsilon noticed that they were still planning to fight.

“Don’t get too close! Use range!” Ypsilon demanded, and the guards who had fled pulled their bows from their backs. “Go for cover, you two!” They were unwilling to let the others stand in the face of danger, even if being in cover was most likely still dangerous.

“Aye!” the Jarl said, going for cover underneath the roof and one of his guards tossed him his bow and quiver, to which he expertly put on.

Irileth on the other hand, was luckily already equipped, and her palms alighted with fire magic, sending pulsating, blazing fire bolts directly against the dragon, who continually roared. The arrows didn’t seem to do anything to it! Irileth’s spells seemed more effective, but it seemed like the arrows couldn’t pierce its hide or even make its mark into the dragon. This was a very, very aggravated dragon, and he wheeled around, before homing in on Ypsilon who stood their with their own bow drawn. It was as if something clicked in the dragons mind, and he roared again, before outstretching his legs to land and perch on the ridge of the balcony, his mouth gaping, a silver glow bubbling in the back of his throat.

“Dovahkiin, here I am!” Odahviing’s voice boomed “I have answered to your thu’um! Let us see your mastery!” Ypsilon’s breath was caught in their throat, but they didn’t feel any fear as the dragon spoke, as it opened its mouth, shooting a beam of frozen ice directly at them.

They held up their ward, the force field itself cracking under the sheer power and it cracked, sending fragments of this glass like material everywhere, and it evaporated as soon as it hit the ground. The excess ice hit Ypsilon head on, and they leapt back, trying to evade as much as they can. It hit them, the chill roaring through their body, stinging slightly. They pulled their string on their bow taut, unleashing a few arrows which sadly bounced off the dragons deep purple hide.

Their heart pounded and the dragon took to the wind again, it’s body so huge that when it veered above them, it cast a shadow like it was blotting out the sun. It’s take off caused Ypsilon to stumble, and their voice came forward oh-so suddenly, the Dragonrend shout pouring from their lips.

As the dark blue manifestation of the shout hit Odahviing square in his chest, he roared, and Ypsilon watched as the guards shot more arrows, this time actually piercing his hide, causing bright silver blood to ooze from around the spots the arrows were now lodged in. “This fight is not with you fleas!” he boomed, forced to land on the balcony, and Ypsilon darted backwards, their hands ablaze with a fire spell and a shock spell in both hands.

“Hold your fire!” the Jarl shouted. “We need to trap it not kill it!”

Ypsilon continued to slowly back up and Odahviing, enraged followed, Ypsilon putting up another ward spell as the angry dragon let loose another burst of ice, this time their ward held fast. They shot at the dragon with the fire and shock spells, irritating it, trying to make it come under the roof. Thankfully, Odahviing took the bait, his lips curled back in a snarl, all the teeth showing in his massive maw, which was glowing with an orange light, and this time he spat nothing but pure fire directly at them, which they had little time to react to. They dodged and rolled out of the way, and Odahviing surged forward as fast as he could move, and a loud creaking noise sounded. It was followed by the sound of chains clinking against each other and the sound of wooshing air.

Ypsilon didn’t know what that was and their gut wrenched when they feared that the entirety of Dragonsreach was going to fall under the weight of such a massive beast. But, instead, they were luckily surprised as a large, curved slab of solid wood slammed down from the mechanisms above, the curvature of it pressing against the back of the dragon's neck, forcing it down against the stone floor. Another part of the mechanism was two large wood clampers that wrapped around Odahviing’s throat, holding him against the trap. It wasn’t crushed however, only immobilized and the dragon wriggled a moment, its wings pressing uselessly against the rock floor, and it let out a roar followed by a strained cry of “ _NID_!” which Ypsilon was able to easily recognize as the word ‘no’ in Dovahzul.

“Got him! Good job!” the Jarl shouted and they heard Irileth and the guards cheer, everyone surprised and glad that this worked out.

The dragon’s horns were too big for it to squeeze its serpentine neck out, and the grasp was far too tight for much movement other than the twisting about slightly.. Ypsilon thought to Sahrotaar for a moment, and how Sahrotaar would have no issue wriggling out of this trap, in a way that was almost fond, before the dragon’s piercing silver gaze homed in on the Dragonborn. It bared its teeth.

“ _Nid! Horvutah med kodaav..._ ” the dragon growled, and Ypsilon stared at it, unsure of its words. It glared daggers at Ypsilon before blinking a few times. “ _Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin._ ”

Ypsilon still had no idea how to answer him and he must of caught on because he cocked his head curiously, in a way that would’ve been cute if only he weren’t so dangerous. “Ah. I forget. You do not have the dovah speech…”

Ypsilon gave him a light nod before Odahviing continued to speak. “You went through a great deal of trouble to get me into such a…humiliating position. _Hiind siiv Alduin_ , hmm? No doubt you want know where to find Alduin? I could sense it within your thu’um.”

Now that he was speaking common Ypsilon nodded, their posture becoming steadfast, stronger, and more confident. “You got it, now where is he hiding!?” their tone was fierce, less soft than usual.

“Ah… such a confidence behind your phrase.” Odahviing boomed, his voice becoming lower as he spoke, as if calming. “One of the reasons I answered your call was to test your thu’um myself. That and that it is familiar... something I cannot sink my teeth into.”

Ypsilon felt their heart swell with pride, praised by a dragon was something they were going to be proud of for a very long time, even if said dragon was evil and against them. That and also that they weren't sure what they were reminding him of. Or if that was even a good thing. Odahviing began to speak more and he said: “Some of us have become to question Alduin’s lordship, that if his thu’um was truly still the strongest… of course, amongst ourselves, we have no need to openly defy him…”

Ypsilon was wondering if the dragon was trying to flatter them to escape or if he was just speaking to speak, to share information at a constant rate as dragons just love to do. “Your own dragon politics don’t concern me.” At least, not totally they thought to themselves, their guilt entering their minds. They liked good dragons like Paarthurnax, and was sure there were more out there. “You were telling me about Alduin’s whereabouts?”

Odahviing squinted, almost looking dismayed. “ _Krosis…_ Innumerable pardons. I am digressing.” the dragon muttered, his voice now lower than they thought possible, it thrummed deeply within him, and they could hear his heavy breath. “He has ventured to Sovngarde to feast upon _joor_ \- mortal souls that will add to his strength. A privilege that he relishes in alone.” Ypsilon listened intently to the dragons words, glad he would crack this easily. “His portal to Sovngarde rests in Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high within the eastern mountains…”

“I must digress again, but I doubt that you need warning that all his final strength is marshalled there. You will meet opposition like no other fight before.” Odahviing continued, his hind claws flexing and loudly scratching against the stone floor. The guards shifted uncomfortably at this.

Ypsilon nodded. “It was to be expected.” they admitted. “I wouldn’t expect less of him, honestly. If I need to fight 4 dragons and 50 draugr to get there I will.”

“Your arrogance will end you,” Odahviing warned. “...Now that have I answered all of your questions, am I free to go?”

The genuineness of his voice shocked Ypsilon, and they realized they hadn’t even considered letting him go. But what else could they do…? They noticed Irileth’s uncertain expression and all the guards backing away or fidgeting uncomfortably under Ypsilon’s and Odahviing’s gaze. The only one who stood tall was Jarl Balgruuf who watched intently as the scene unfolded.

Ypsilon pondered it for a moment, trying to figure out something reasonable. They wouldn’t leave a dragon to rot, nor would they kill him, that was too cruel as he was trapped. This dragon had just killed a man though… not to mention the possibilities of other innocent people dying in the process. “Not until Alduin is defeated.” they answered and the dragon lowered its head in a way that seemed sad.

Odahviing pondered their words before speaking again. “Hmm… _Krosis_ , there is one detail about Skuldafn that I have failed to mention.”

“And that is…?” they questioned him, and Odahviing’s eyes glinted and his wings flexed slightly.

“As _dov_ , you have _thu’um_ , however as a _joor,_ you lack wings and thus will never set foot in Skuldafn…” Odahviing said, his voice lilting and curling, and Ypsilon wondered if this was manipulation. “Of course… I could fly you there, but not while imprisoned.”

Ypsilon’s heart suddenly started beating rapidly in their chest, oh boy…They expected there to be a catch. “Well… it seems like we’re at an impasse then,” they said, carefully mulling over his words.

“Indeed. You will not free me until Alduin is defeated, which you cannot do without my help.” his voice thrummed, and Ypsilon shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Give me a moment to think this over…” Ypsilon murmured, hand rubbing at the back of their neck. They stepped back from the dragon, and moved toward Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth, who were both surveying the scene.

“Speak your mind, Dragonborn.” Jarl Balgruuf said, his hand rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

“I need to think this over… I’m not sure if I could even begin to trust this dragon…” they murmured. “But there’s no choice, huh…”

“I’m not handling it,” one of the guards said, backing away from the levers of the mechanisms, holding up his arms in defeat. “Dragonborn, this is all you.“

Ypsilon looked towards the guard who’d given in, and nodded lightly, they watched as he passed by the Jarl who gave the man a hard pat on the shoulder, signalling that it was no problem that he didn’t want to be here. This was reckless. They hadn’t even thought this through yet. What was their rule of life? Go with the flow? Since it’s your destiny it’ll work out? This seemed mighty dangerous, and their usual plan to cope with them being a hero was not looking too bright. The Jarl and Housecarl shifted on their feet worriedly, and they watched as Ypsilon moved towards the massive dragon, standing in front of it. They took in a deep breath, and tried to refocus their thoughts, quashing out the self-doubt and other worries. The time was here and now, and this dragon was here right now. Although here it would stay until they decided, they wanted to pick up the pace, choose their own path, and try to guide their destiny a little bit away from failure.

“Have you reconsidered my offer?” Odahviing asked, nostrils flaring as Ypsilon came in closer.

“Yeah, I have. I’ll release you...” they said, their voice strong, but they were carefully picking their words out. “...Under the condition that you won’t help Alduin any longer. Or at least to not assist him until our fight is done. It’s not in my right to choose where your loyalties lay after this, but I ask you not to assist him.”

“An apt response…” Odahviing rumbled, “It is wise to recognize when you have no other choice. I will take you to Skuldafn. And you can trust me, Alduin has already proven himself unworth to rule. Now I choose to go my own way.”

Ypsilon nodded. “Deal is a deal. And I expect to be able to hold up your words.” they said, and Odahviing watched as they returned to the Jarl and Housecarl. They knew Odahviing, like almost every dragon, was most likely driven by pride and honor, so they were sure that he would.

“I’ll give the word in a moment.” Ypsilon said, and the Jarl nodded, crossing his arms.

“You’ll have to handle the right mechanism,” the Jarl stated, Irileth pointing towards the levers that the other guard had left. “The left mechanism will be lifted by the guards.” The two were still ready for a fight in case of emergency.

The guard on the other side held up his hand in greeting, but he seemed extraordinarily nervous as his whole arm shook. Irileth furrowed her brow, deep in thought, and she looked like she was about to say something before Farengar, the court wizard burst through the doors of the balcony. She stared at him as he went up to the dragon, Ypsilon stared as well, although unfocused on him. Farengar stopped just a few feet from Odahviings face, pressing his palms together in a way that seemed excitedly.

“Incredible…” he breathed out, and Odahviing’s glowing silver eyes trained on him, glaring into him. “Uh… sir, you would have no idea how long I’ve waited for such an opportunity!”

Odahviing cocked his head slightly, his glare at the hooded wizard unwavering, not saying a word. “I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to some… ah…tests on you. Purely in the interests of advancing knowledge.” Farengar said, fiddling with his hands as he spoke.

Odahviing bared his teeth in a snarl, twisting slightly within the trap. “Begone mage.” Odahviing boomed, “Do not test my promise to the Dovahkiin!”

Ypsilon went up to the levers and studied them as they watched Farengar move around the trap, passing by the dragon, who followed him with his eyes as far as he could, before Farengar was around the trap where Odahviing could not see him.

“I assure you, you won’t even notice me! None of these will be painful at all, especially to a large dragon such as yourself.” Farengar spoke as he moved towards Odahviings hind legs.

“Farengar, very bad idea. Even for you.” Irileth warned, but her warning fell on deaf ears and Farengar kept speaking to Odahviing who froze up upon him coming too close to his wings.

“Surely you wouldn’t miss any scales, or even a bit of blood…” Farengar began to pull his tools from with the pockets of his robes, and Odahviing’s head tilted upwards as far as he could go.

“ _Joor mey_! What are you doing back there!” he shouted and upon Farengar touching his wing, Odahviing’s mouth lit up and Ypsilon’s eyes widened with shock as Odahviing released a torrent of flame towards the roof of the balcony, which was luckily lined with stone. It didn’t hit anybody or any tapestries, so it just burned against the stone.

Odahviing writhed and Farengar stumbled back with shock, and the Jarl waved at him to go back inside. “Farengar, please!” he yelled over the roar of the fire as Farengar ran from Odahviing’s side, who instantly stopped spewing flame upon Farengar reappearing in his vision.

Ypsilon watched as Odahviing squinted at the mage, as if he was considering to blow more flame onto Farengar. Luckily he didn’t and Farengar shouted “I’m sorry!” to everyone on the balcony before dashing back inside the safety of Dragonsreach.

“Alright…” Ypsilon breathed out, hoping that Odahviing wasn’t too pissed, and they noticed his silver eyes staring through them. “Open the trap!” they called to the other guard.

“Your funeral.” grunted the guard on the left mechanisms. “You’re going to have to ask someone else to help you get him back in there.”

“It won’t be a problem.” Ypsilon called to the other one from across the balcony. At least they hoped not. This was a bad idea. Or maybe a good one. Certainly a crazy one!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked another guard who held his weapons at ready, in case of a fight, and Odahviing stared at this guard with a slightly amused expression.

“Yes, carry on soldier.” Balgruuf said, staring daggers into his soldiers. “This is all part of the Dragonborn’s plan, now, ready!” He called, louder than all else.

Ypsilon pulled the levers, as did the other guard, and the chains began to clank, the mechanisms coming to life as the clasp around Odahviing’s neck was opened and the massive slab of wood was lifted off his neck. Odahviing twisted a bit, stretching and his body seemingly relaxed, his tail up again, his demeanor had absolutely perked up and Ypsilon came from the levers to lead ahead of Odahviing back towards the balcony.

Odahviing pushed himself up a bit, his head still relatively low to the ground, as he pushed along his wings, walking in a way that made him look like a humongous and scaley bat. He followed after the Dragonborn and boomed “ _Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal_.”

Ypsilon wished they understood Dovahzuul, and they realized this was another reason why they should take to learning it. They stood under the sky, hearing the noise of Odahviing crawl closer, and he felt a breath on their back, his posture and how he tucked in his wings seemed like he was itching to fly. He crawled out from underneath the cover of the ceiling and Ypsilon turned to look at him and their eyes caught on the Jarl’s expression, which was impressed and he smiled. Irileth looked like she was in a state of sheer shock, and Odahviing looked to follow Ypsilon’s gaze before looking back towards them.

“Are you ready to see the world as only a _dovah_ can?” he asked, voice low.

Ypsilon felt their heart hammering in their chest. They nodded. “Yeah, yes I’m ready.” they said, their voice excited. “Take me to Skuldafn.”

“ _Zok brit uth_ !” Odahviing said, a tune of laughter in his voice. “Although, I must warn you, once you have flown the skies your envy of _dov_ will only grow. Hop on. Or have you flown them before?”

Ypsilon came closer to Odahviing, their eyes tracing over his glistening purple scales, accented with a dark blue. His crest of horns was the same shade of this dark blue, and they curved outwards, with flecks of silver that made them appear like a rendition of the night sky. His silver eyes were pupil less and bright, studying them as they came closer. He lowered his head, allowing them to get on. They weren’t sure if they could get on him in the same place where they had gotten on Sahrotaar, but their hands touched at the top of his neck, noticing that the area on his neck behind his horns was much smoother than the rest and was void of spines.

They lifted their leg and swung it over his neck, careful to not kick the dragon, and Odahviing held still, awaiting for them to put their full weight on. They were unsure of what to hold on to, and they pressed lightly on the scales behind his neck, trying to gain balance. Odahviing let out a deep breath and began to move towards the side of the balcony.

Ypsilon stiffened, bracing for lift off. This was different than the flight in Apocrypha with Sahrotaar, there was wind and weather, not still putrid air, there was more to take into consideration. Odahviing unfolded his wings, flaring them outwards, leaning forward, seeming like he was going to dive directly off the balcony, but the wind caught his wings, and Odahviing with a short beat of his wings was off, and the power of the upward movement forced Ypsilon to lower themselves closer to him. Their hands found one of his horns and they steadied themselves as Odahviing gradually rose upwards, wingbeats was all Ypsilon could hear as the ground became even more distant.

“ _Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok!_ ” Odahviing roared, in a way that sounded triumphant and free, and Ypsilon felt his souls’ energy flow through them as he began to move for, no longer hovering, but instead pushing through the air.

As Odahviing wheeled away, veering along a path towards the distant mountain range, Ireleth and Jarl Balgruuf rushed towards the balcony, accompanied by the guards, and a disgruntled Farengar. They all gazed intently at the skies, the Dragonborn and their new companion vanishing into the distance. Their expressions were that of awe, shock, and also worry.

“They are either the bravest person I’ve ever met, or the biggest fool.” Irileth said, crossing her arms and watching them go.

“May Kynareth guard you as you pass through her realm!” Jarl Balgruuf shouted after them.

“Kyne protect them…” Farengar breathed, hoping that the goddess of heavens, winds, and skies heard both their prayers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (most you can probably Google, as they are canon lines, but that'd be not so handy so here you go):
> 
> "Nid! Horvutah med kodaav!" = "No! Caught like a bear in a trap!"  
> "Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin." = "My (most) eagerness to meet you in battle has brought about (my) defeat, Dovahkiin"  
> "Krosis" = "Apologies / Sorry"  
> "Joor mey" = "Foolish mortal"  
> "“Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal.” = "Fear not, my honor holds my rage at bay"  
> “Zok brit uth!” = "A strong command!"  
> “Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok!” = "Onward! We fly into the sky's freedom!"


	10. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying high in the sky with Odahviing causes some pretty wishful thinking out of Ypsilon. While writing the first part, I listened to HTTYD's Romantic Flight (I'd also recommend listening to it on loop or something while reading.) The content isn't romantic, but it's a nice song that felt thoughtful and calming and pretty.   
> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9TanR_3M0o)
> 
> This chapter has a bit of violence as there's a fight, although I'm not sure if it fits the threshold for Graphic Violence (I'm never sure =n=), so just be warned! There's blood mentions, sword-fighting, fire burning things. 
> 
> But yeah! Progression! Dovahzul translations at the end!

The sky felt like an endless realm of nothing but beauty. The soft puffy clouds rose just above touch, and flew along with them, at a much lazier pace but they were there. The air was sharp, cold, but it wasn’t harsh. The landscape rolling by, the ground just a distant memory, they felt more alive and energized then they had in a while. Odahviing wasn’t going at too quick a pace, not super fast, but at a slow enough speed for them to enjoy themselves. They weren’t sure if it was intentional, but they were certainly pleased.

They turned in their spot to look back towards Whiterun, Dragonsreach, the houses, the walls, the outlying farms; they all looked like tiny building blocks in the distance. A few birds flew along behind Odahviing’s wings, which honestly surprised them as they couldn’t believe such skittish things would trust to be by a dragon. They chittered and chattered and Ypsilon watched as they swooped and ducked around the massive beasts wings, as if playing a game. 

Odahviing paid no mind to this, allowing the tiny fliers to float around him, and Ypsilon was somewhat surprised. Their mind wandered, their gaze fixed on the distant white snow, the rolling plains, the even more distant mountain range where Skuldafn rested. Their mind felt open, the politics of the world below, the troubles of their world left them entirely. Here they were, on the back of a dragon meant to be their enemy, but they felt nothing but goodness, and it was as if the combination of two dragon souls in one place helping each other was causing the world to live, to breath. The birds flitted around and Ypsilon couldn’t help but grin from behind their mask. 

Dragons were considered the offspring of Akatosh, the head of the pantheon of all religions of the world. A time god, known by different names per religion, but was almost always portrayed as a dragon. As much as Ypsilon didn’t pay much attention to religion, they had had enough of it in their past, there was no denying the existence of a higher power at this point, the world was riddled with too much mystery and too much magic to be void of them. Dragons were also equated to Kynareth, the goddess of the heavens, skies, winds, and all the elements, who created life as we know it. If two gods that were so revered and loved by all, why were dragons so evil? They were well aware of the past that the dragons had practically enslaved humanity and they all followed Alduin’s reign. Alduin was the first born son of Akatosh, thus making him a god of some kind, and at that, also a foul and arrogant ruler. He was referred to as Akatosh’s most powerful creation, and Ypsilon could see that going to his head. 

There were good dragons, there was proof of that that was Paarthurnax. _ "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?" _ Paarthurnax’s words echoed in their mind. He had been Alduin’s lieutenant and claimed to have committed and witnessed unspeakable atrocities against mankind… But he was undeniably good and had been aiding them from the beginning to save the world to make up for his mistakes. They felt in their gut that this couldn’t possibly be the way, and that perhaps with a change in tides against Alduin, that the world could become a better place for both man, mer, and dragon alike. They highly doubted the scars left by the Dragon Cult could truly heal, but perhaps with time, maybe dragons and people could get along, or at least stay far enough away from each other to mind each other’s space. They were so so tired of death, both dragon and people.

They were suddenly torn from their thoughts as Odahviing dived, his pace picking up, the mountains that bordered the massive river that flowed from south to east were so close, their peaks visible and the light of the sun danced over the snow. He zoomed lower than they expected, tilting at an angle that had them scrambling for a hold, and Ypsilon watched as his wing tip grazed the surface of the rushing river. The surface sparkled, dragonflies and water striders dispersing, the fish below darting away from the huge shadow that was above their home. 

Ypsilon gasped out, impressed and Odahviing let out a low thrumming growl from his chest, seemingly joyous or feeling free. As soon as Odahviing rightened, Ypsilon’s fingers fumbled with the clasps of their mask, tearing it from their face, and quickly hooking it into the belt of their armor. The pulled down their hood, eagerly accepting the wind blowing through their hair. 

The length of the river was not untouched and completely uncivilized, and two massive towers with a bridge high, high over the river was in their path. Ypsilon wondered if Odahviing was going to zoom over them, but he tucked in his wings as soon as the bridges came too close, the momentum carrying him under them, the river so close to his belly. Ypsilon heard the gasps and shouts of a few people who were currently on the bridge, and they turned, watching a bunch of startled bandits staring at them wide eyed. For a moment Ypsilon was breathless, they sped ahead, and then as they noticed that the river completely ducked down a cliff, a huge waterfall pouring into a lake below, carrying into the rest of the river. 

Odahviing was slow to unfurl his wings again, and he hurtled down along the waterfall. Ypsilon felt the wind and water spray on their skin, their icy patterns lighting up, resonating with the cold. He flared his wings, the wind forcing him upward again and he flew upwards at a quick pace, rising. A flock of birds parted as Odahviing rose, and the sparse foliage of the plains gave way to thick forests, and Odahviing began to rise higher and higher, the roads and small buildings scattered there becoming farther and farther away. 

With a few more powerful wingbeats, they were zooming along the undersides of the clouds themselves, the bright light from the sun glinted off Ypsilon’s armor and Odahviings scales. Ypsilon reached upwards, trying to touch the clouds, but they let out a noise of surprise as it felt like absolutely nothing, and now their gloves were wet, soaked through. They felt Odahviing make a repeated rumbling noise and they realized he was laughing, and then they laughed too, too awestruck by this whole moment to care that they had a single soggy hand. 

The air breezed past their face, their grin wide, their eyes squinting slightly from the wind buffeting them, and they felt excitement grow in their chest. The mountains rising in the distance the “Eastern Mountains” as Odahviing had said were speeding towards them, and they saw them loom in the distance. Those were the Velothi Mountains, and they were the border between Skyrim and its neighbor Morrowind. Ypsilon looked down again, the distant trees flowing by faster than anything they’ve ever seen, the forests quickly dispersing into sparse trees as they reached the geysers and marshier area of Skyrim. Someone was bound to see them, and Odahviing was keeping up a quick pace to avoid any issues. They flew over the roads, and the warmer temperature dropped quickly, giving way to even more snow. A frigid wind blew through the two of them. As they zoomed along, Ypsilon let out a deep sigh, their mask was off, their body alight with life and Odahviing quickly and dramatically flew upward, speeding along the ridges of the mountain range that were now directly in front of them.

The mountain range was extremely steep, and suddenly Odahviing took a surprisingly complete vertical angle, wings pumping to keep the momentum of the vertical flight going. Ypsilon grasped his horns for dear life, the wind threatening to push them off, but they held steady and after a few more seconds of this, he rightened again. They zoomed over some extraordinarily sharp peaks that bordered what was like an indentation in the almost completely vertical mountains, and Ypsilon’s eyes caught on to a large stone structure that was in the most distant reaches of the indentation. 

The weather was clear here, but snowstorm filled clouds were passing over, threatening to release a blizzard. There was a frozen lake, a few sparse trees, and huge nordic-styled ruins that rose up, bordering the lake as well as being constructed over it, massive pillars going straight into the lake. The ruins lead directly towards the even larger temple-like building that stood taller than the rest.. It had massive curving architecture, and dragon statues adorned it, and it was covered in moss and snow. Odahviing locked on to something nearby, and he zoomed towards an area that was lower to the ground, but not by much, it was like a bridge that overlooked the lake, and was bordered by some of the cliffs. He lowered himself on to the rocky platform and Ypsilon was breathless and their legs felt like jelly as they hauled themselves off his neck.

“This is as far as I can take you.  _ Krif voth ahkrin _ , I will look for your return, or Alduin’s.” Odahviing said, turning to look at the Dragonborn.

“Thank you Odahviing.” Ypsilon said, sincerity lining their voice, unsure of what he’d said in Dovahzul, but it seemed like an affirmation of something. They wanted to keep flying, and how they wished to fly on their own, to feel wind against wings of their own. “That flight was amazing…”

“Ah, what did I tell you.” Odahviing purred. “Flight is one of  _ dovs  _ most important gifts. Perhaps one day you may take to the wind... Farewell, Dovahkiin.”

“Farewell!”  they called as he took to the wind, his wings flaring out, the wind from his wingbeats forcing them to buckle their knees to keep standing.

They watched as Odahviing rose over the peaks, and they gazed at him wistfully before turning their attention to where this bridge led to. Arched stone gateways, unlike anything they’d seen before loomed at the end of the bridge, and they unsheathed their elven glass sword, gripping the hilt tightly in their hands. They moved quickly, careful to not look at the sheer drop to the surface of the ice-covered lake. As the passed by the stone archways, their foot caught on something and their breath hitched as they whirled around. Their eyes hit the glint of metal, and they realized they’d just kicked an armed dragur corpse.

They were confused for a moment, it was of course, not fresh, since dragur were undead, but there was no snow covering it, as if it had just been killed. Their mind was confused as they moved throughout the area, Odahviing  _ had _ said this was place was only accessible to dragons and there  _ had  _ been a vertical drop, so there was no way someone had just killed some dragur up here. They glanced around, hearing a clacking sound that could only belong to a dragur. It stood there, unaware of their presence, wandering back and forth quietly, as if looking for something. It’s weapon was drawn, too. They replaced their sword at their hip, and readied their bow, quickly and expertly firing a few arrows directly into its old, decaying flesh. They moved forward quietly, dropping to their knees to pull a few of the looser arrows from its clothes, placing them back in the quiver before moving on.

The area was somewhat narrow, lined with tall stone walls, and although the fact that they could easily get attacked by anything at the top of the walls worried them, but they felt safer looking up at the sky. They moved along, coming upon a few more dragur corpses which they looted for gold, and they kept close to the walls, worried of anything coming at them from above. At the end of this tunnel-like area, was a huge stone staircase, and they climbed up the many steps, the echoing of their armored boots clanking on the stone. 

As soon as they made it to the landing, they heard a slight rumble sound and their attention was immediately turned to a dragon statue that was resting on top of a large column. The blinked at it, confused, and was quick to replace their mask, unsure if it was actually alive. It was in the moment when they turned their attention to the many many more stairs that lead up to a grassy clearing, the dragon statue began to glow with a blue light. Ypsilon caught the glow in their peripheral vision, turning to watch as the stone crumbled from it, revealing bright orange scales, that smoldered like embers, and long, black spines. Its head was adorned with two short spines on its chin, and two longer curved horns that spiraled back. The dragon’s piercing yellow eyes fell upon the Dragonborn, and it quickly took to the sky, the force pushing them down. 

Panic entered them as they almost fell, and they quickly dashed up the staircase, all they could hear was the dragons wingbeats and the woosh of air. The stone shook as the dragon landed directly behind them, and they felt heat, so suddenly, and the dragon breathed a rush of fire directly at them. They bolted up the steps as fast as they could, ducking and rolling as soon as the steps ended, causing the fire that surged up the it to fling itself upwards towards the sky. Ypsilon bounced to their feet, and they watched as the dragon climbed up the steps itself, getting up with ease because of its size.

They held their bow ready, firing more arrows at this massive beast, and to their surprise it instantly pierced the dragons hide. Come to think of it, this dragon was on the ground, and they couldn’t seem to understand why. The dragon opened its maw to spout more fire, and Ypsilon dashed as far as they could along the circular clearing, leaping behind a fallen pillar and the fire surged up against it. They felt like the fur trim on their burlap cloak was getting singed, and they peeked over at the dragon again, unwilling to attack before they understood the situation.

They noticed some heavy dark rock, similar to what the dragon was initially made of before the fight had begun, was still on the dragon’s wings. It probably was weighing it down, forcing it to land. Part of them wished they could reason with this dragon, but as more and more fire burst towards them, and the dragon walked upon its wings to reach them, forcing them to change locations, they realized that they probably could not. It’s soul was thrumming and reverberating in a way that was aggressive and disorienting. Odahviing, who had been genuinely upset not unlike this one, had a soul with sensitivity to it, a sense of living, and even in his anger, he still had that. But this dragon, it’s soul was angry, not alive, dark like ashes, and Ypsilon wondered if it was still sentient. It did not speak at all, so that was a clear sign of its current state. Perhaps it had been corrupted by being here for so long in that statue formation, perhaps Alduin was the cause of this.

The dragon reared up, more fire pulsating from its mouth and Ypsilon shot it with more arrows, dark red beginning to ooze out of specific places from its scales. Ypsilon wanted to end this quickly, their mind felt like a blur as they shot arrow after arrow, quickly opting to turn to magic. The dragon followed after them, blinded by its rage and unable to notice how wounded it was becoming. Ypsilon felt guilt in their gut rise, and as they moved along the grassy circle, they noticed that the temple rose just up a few more flights of stairs… if they could get into Sovngarde, they wouldn’t have to kill this poor dragon. 

They darted around it, and the dragon tried to bite at them, but they were too quick, and it was too clumsy and unbalanced in its current state. The dragon followed on their heels charging them, and they felt the roar of blood in their ears, the heavy breathing emitting from the dragons mouth as it bounded after them. They felt it step far too close to them, massive talons pricking at their covered legs, and they were suddenly down on the ground. The dragon reared up, a large black-taloned set of claws connected to its wings crashing down on the ground right next to Ypsilon, causing the stone to creak and shatter. Ypsilon rolled to the side, evading this and quickly getting back to their feet. 

Couldn’t run... This dragon is too fast, they thought. They unsheathed their sword, gripping it as they quickly hatched an idea. They really, really didn’t want to do this, not at all, but it seemed like there was no choice as the dragon’s rib cage expanded and bright flames bubbled from its open mouth. As more fire surged towards them, they dodged out of the way, but they were a second too late, the flames hit them on the soft cloth part that was in the seams of their armor, caught fire. 

They let out a shriek of pain, and their nostrils were filled with the smell of their own skin burning, and they were quick to fill their free hand with an ice spell, blasting their burning leg with the frost spell. It covered the armor and their leg, quickly smothering out the fire, and they kept moving as best as they could, trying to put distance in between the dragon and them. Gods, they were in so much pain as they hobbled as fast as they could, ignoring the sting as best they could.

The dragon picked up speed, and Ypsilon was suddenly trapped between a wall and a hard place. Their eyes scanned and they turned to face the dragon as it sped towards them, and they leapt to the side. The dragon flung itself face first into the wall, its skull making a dull thud noise as its horns began to crack. It let out a shrieking call of pain and it hunched over, shaking its head, as if dizzy. 

The Dragonborn felt awful, but then the bright orange beast whirled back to face them, its yellow eyes locking on to them. Ypsilon darted towards the stairs that they had come up from, and ran as fast as their legs could take them, their breath hurting the insides of their throat, their grip on their sword becoming painful. The dragon lurched after them, and as soon as they felt it pick up speed they, ducked down a couple steps, now out of the dragons immediate sight, putting their feet to stop their fall on the steep slope of the steps. The dragon kept going and their heart thudded in their chest as they felt the stone shake from the force of it moving. The dragon didn’t slow down, just as they’d expected, and as soon as it launched itself their eyes widened, its orange belly directly above them. They gritted their teeth and raised their sword, instantly piercing the delicate area. The speed at which the dragon moved at caused the cut to go on for more they expected, and it was a long, deep slice along its underside. The dragon, eyes rolling with shock, tired to stop its fall by lowering a wing to catch itself, but the bone made a sickly cracking noise as it couldn’t stop, falling to the steps below. 

The dragon’s body, now limp, rolled down the stairs, only stopping when it hit the direct bottom, and Ypsilon rushed to its body, the ice on their leg melting and returning with full force pain as they ran down the stairs. The dragon was rolled at an odd angle on top of its wing, and it’s eyes were dull, lifeless, and its jaw was slack. They felt like they were flooded with guilt and they went to their knees, taking a breather next to its huge body. Yes the dragon had attacked them, yes it had wounded them, but it seemed like nothing but a brainless husk of a dragon, and it was weighed by the rock on it’s wing. 

Ypsilon took huge deep breaths, their throat felt like it had been rubbed raw, and they were having trouble getting the air into their lungs that they so desperately needed. They closed their eyes for a moment, catching their breath, and they reopened them when they saw bright light from behind their eyelids. The dragon’s body was crackling, glowing, it’s skin and flesh disintegrating, glowing brightly like embers. Glowing ethereal strands of colors began to rise from its body, and Ypsilon instantly knew what these were. Shades of orange, red, and yellow flowed out of the dragon’s body and they opened their arms and closed their eyes, welcoming the soul into themselves. They felt terrible, but at least they could carry the memory of this dragon with them. They didn’t know its past, but there was no offense that deserved a dragon to become an empty fighting machine for its awful master, Alduin.

The rush of the dragon’s soul kept going, and they didn’t feel the soul welling within them and they opened their eyes, looking at the soul strands with confusion. It flowed directly past them, and they looked towards the dragon’s body, wondering what the problem was. Their ears caught on to a noise that sounded disturbingly like scuffing bootsteps, and Ypsilon felt a shock go through them. Dragur? What was there?

They whirled around and their breath got choked up in their throat. Well, they were somewhat right. Standing at the landing just above where they stood was a glowing, wavering blue apparition. Despite its transparency and illuminated glow, they could make out intricate dragon priest robes, tattered on the ends, held together by a golden, filigree belt, and at the very top of it all, was the ornate, golden wrought mask of Miraak. 

Ypsilon almost gasped, but their breath was caught in their throat as he looked at them, and their eyes widened from behind their mask. They were at a loss for words, and they stared at him, wondering why he looked the way he did and why he was here. How was he here? Did he still have his dragons? They didn’t think it was possible for them to be here, they were still definitely trapped in Apocrypha.

“Miraak, you… why? I?” Ypsilon stuttered out, the sheer shock disallowing them from actually saying anything coherent. They felt no anger, just pure confusion. “How are you here?”

Miraak stared at them, and they were so confused as he turned away from them, heading back up the steps. His pace was slow enough that they bounced to their feet and moved after him. “Miraak, wait! Please!” they didn’t know why they wanted him to stop, they didn’t care that he’d just taken the dragons soul from their grasp, they just desperately wanted to understand. 

They caught up with him on the landing of the stairs that was in the grassy area, and they tailed him, noticing the form was wavering and shuddering, the blue changing from a darker color to a much paler blue. “Miraak, why are you here…? How did you get up here…?” they asked, finally able to produce some words.

He turned to them for a moment, and they held his gaze, or at least what they assumed was his gaze, before he abruptly turnt around. “No... no more...” he muttered extremely softly, hands pressing up on his mask.

They wondered if he knew that they had heard them, and when his form wavered and vanished completely, his voice eminated from where the form had vanished. “I am not here, Dovahkiin.” 

They gulped, their eyes trained on where he had vanished, half expecting him to reappear. He wasn’t still trapped with Mora was he? Was this an illusion of some kind? The form they had just seen him in was extremely similar to the one they had seen every time he’d stolen a dragon soul from them. It was ghostly and clear, yet slightly visible, and he  _ had _ used it when he was still in Apocrypha. But this one was different, they thought, it seemed like it was an illusion, or something. It seemed actually worldly, despite it being spectrely. 

They shook themselves, worry filling their mind. They needed to keep moving, they needed to heal their wounds, and they needed to get to the summit of Skuldafn to find Alduin, not worry about Miraak with his confusing and questionable purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back >:3c
> 
> Here's the translations for this chapter, which is luckily more minimal than the previous one:  
> "Krif voth ahkrin" = "Fight bravely" , but is literally "fight with courage"


	11. I’m Kind of Sick of Dragon Priests, But Hey? What Can I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a chapter to break up the time between seeing Miraak and getting into Sovngarde. In which Ypsilon is just a humble anime protaganist (whoops). They're tired of dragon priests, y'all.

Ypsilon had quickly tended to their wounds, their healing spells aiding the singed flesh as much as it could. They crouched behind a bit of fallen rubble, listening closely to any and every noise, in case something tried to sneak up on them. Their senses were heightened, and thus so was the pain from the burn. They gripped at their removed leg plate armor until their knuckles went white due to the pain. Golden light glowed from their palms as they surged more energy into their leg, trying to force it to heal, to regenerate, but they weren’t sure how well it’d heal. They squinted, their lip curving upwards in disgust, the skin was dark and cracked, and they felt themselves wince every time they shifted slightly. However, this was not the time for them to stop and give into the pain, they forced more healing magic into themselves, and then tore cloth from parts of their burlap travel cloak, and tightly wrapped it around. After letting that settle, they replaced their armor, the straps rubbing up against their bandaged wound, but they swallowed hard and lurched to their feet. 

They surveyed the area, they were still in the grassy circle, and their eyes fell upon the two staircases that rose up to another landing, and then there were even more stairs that lead to the peak. From what they could see, it was massive, and there were tall pillars reaching towards the sky at the top, draped with tattered, frozen flags that hung limply despite the wind. They went to the base of the steps and cursed whoever thought that staircases were a good architecture choice. Probably Alduin, he didn’t need stairs. Not to mention, they didn’t even know if the path was up here, but knowing architecture and how places like this were lined out, it was most likely the path to Sovngarde was at the peak. Be it an actual portal, or certain death, Ypsilon thought, somewhat morbidly.

They let out a deep breath, unsheathing their sword and placed their wounded foot on the bottom most step and began the steady ascent. It was hard for a moment, but within due time they had made it past that staircase, and their gait slowly fell into a nice rhythm despite their limping. They were confused as to why there was no opposition, and they quickly made it to the peak. They felt triumphant for a moment, until fear dawned upon them.

The columns were huge and they adorned the space nicely, but the space itself seemed like a destroyed shrine. There was destroyed stone tables and chairs and things were a mess and it looked ancient… In the dead center was a strange looking stage, only two steps up from the rest of the area, and there was what seemed to be a large, wooden staff sitting square within it. In front of the stage was a massive slab of rock, similar to the stone sarcophaguses used by the undead Dragon Priests. Unfortunately, that’s not what their eyes caught on to first. Three dragon skeletons were strewn about and at first Ypsilon thought that they too were ancient, but their eyes caught onto their crackling bones that held a faint glow. These were fresh kills, they thought, confusion and also panic setting in. Had Miraak done this? He wasn’t here, there was no way he was able to kill things ethereally, one could not hurt anything in that form, nor could the user get hurt. They felt confused and they moved closer to the where the staff was set and they felt their hair stand on end as waves of magicka poured from the area just behind the stage.

They followed this trail, dodging around the ruin and the dragon skeletons, and peered towards the source of this incredible amount of magicka. Their eyes widened, and they saw a massive portal, dead center in the middle of the stone. Parts of the flooring swirled around it, undamaged, and they noticed as it wavered with many different colors. Lavender, light blues, oranges, and pinks all swirled around like strange technicolor clouds, and they gazed at it, starstruck by the sight. Was this the path to Sovngarde…? They went closer to it, but their attention was suddenly grabbed by the heavy sound of the sarcophagus opening, and Ypsilon turned their attention to Dragon Priest who slowly rose out from the sarcophagus.

They looked towards the portal. No way were they going to risk almost dying before fighting Alduin! They took a running start, and out of the corner of their eye, they watched as the dragon priest raised an open palm towards the portal. Their eyes widened and it felt like time slowed as they feared a spell would burst from the lich’s filthy palms, but to their relief and surprise, it just telekinetically pulled the staff from its resting spot. They sped up and jumped, the portal underneath them, just as world shook and a shriek hit Ypsilon’s ears. The portal beneath them instantly closed and they hit the now closed stone ground with a hard smack, their feet taking all the impact, by the Eight… did that hurt!

Once back on their feet they whirled around to watch as the dragon priest, held the staff up high above its head, it’s mask betraying no expression, no explanation of what was going on. Ypsilon stared at it and suddenly an arcane electrical shock spurted from the tip of the dragon staff, the lightning shooting directly into the snow-laden clouds above. Ypsilon watched as the light crackled and dispersed along the underside of the cloud, and then the wind kicked in, blowing their clothing and causing the Dragon Priest’s shabby robes to flutter along its corpse-like body. 

Ypsilon bounded forward, sword in hand as the Dragon Priest shrieked at them, floating away with ease, and dodging their first swipe. They were so close… they couldn’t let themselves lose this! The Dragon Priest pointed the staff towards Ypsilon, the electricity surging towards them and they summoned up their ward, the clear surface reverberating as the static danced off of it. A firebolt was hurled at them, and then another, and another, and right before their ward gave way and cracked, Ypsilon shouted. 

“ _Yol!_ ” the one word of fire breath surged outward, their body beginning to feel incredibly warm as the Dragon Priest was bathed with fire. 

The Dragon Priest screamed, it was unearthly, almost unbearable, and Ypsilon wished that they could close their ears. The priest shook for a moment and Ypsilon took it’s confusion as a chance to stab it in the chest. They bounded forward, slashing with all the force they had, and all the adrenaline paid off, but unfortunately at the cost of their aim. Instead, they chopped on of the Dragon Priest’s bare legs clean off, the appendage falling to the ground with a thud before disintegrating into ash. The priest was barely inconvenienced and kept floating further away, trying to keep space in between the two of them as it hurled destruction spells at them. 

" _ Hin laas los dii. _ " the dragon priest hissed, and Ypsilon was taken aback by the sudden words. Was that Dovahzul? They wished they could understand...

An electric spell surged forth, and caught them on the shoulder, causing them to tremble in pain and the surge running through them. They moved towards the pillars, trying to get behind one as the electricity slowly stopped making them lose their grip. They ran, and then they heard a massive explosion as a fire spell toppled the pillar they had just bounded past.

“ _ Fent ni fiilok! _ ” the Dragon Priest shrieked, releasing more and more spells at them, and they ran along, dodging and attempting another ward, but their magicka was too low, their ward not repaired yet.

Suddenly, the Dragon Priest was upon them, and they felt its magicka roaring off of it, and they glared at it, dodging past it, avoiding it as best as they could. “ _ Sosaal fah hin vothaarn! _ ” It screeched as it struck them with its staff, the dragon-shaped tip jutting into them as electricity surged through their entire body. They tumbled a bit away, the force making them slam their back into the dragon skeleton behind them.

“No… no like this…” they thought, watching as the priest hovered, coming closer. “I need to be able to fight Alduin...” Their mind was swirling with its now solidified self-doubt, and it hit them that they were the only one who could actually save the world. 

Their mind drifted towards all the dragon attacks occurring because of Alduin’s doing, all the casualties that must’ve been occuring due to him forcing his followers to hurt people. They needed to finish off Alduin before Alduin The World Eater decided it was time to end the world, and they liked the world. They liked it a whole lot. Sure, it had its bad points, but all things had bad points. There was much good in it, much beauty, and many people that they liked in this world. They weren’t ready to let it go. Sure, there may be another world after this one, but that upcoming world would have to take care of itself, it wasn’t time for a new world when there was still so much to experience in this one. There’s still so much to be done.

Their eyes caught onto the dark blue glow of a conjuration spell being readied within the priest’s hand, and they felt energy surge back into them, and darted forward, their sword raised ready to swing, albeit a bit clumsy and clunky. The spell was cast, and although they heard the sound of the familiar static of a Storm Atronach begin, they ignored it, if they could kill the caster, the summon would vanish back to Oblivion. They felt the panic in their chest become pure rage, and they felt the energy within them grow further, and their dragon soul was roaring.

The Dragon Priest kept moving backwards, but Ypsilon cleared the gap with ease, the tingle of static almost upon them as the Storm Atronach was charging a spell to release on them. Their teeth gritted and their grip on their sword became knuckle white and they brought the entirety of their body against the Dragon Priest, their elbow digging into whatever was left of its torso. The Dragon Priest fell back, its hovering stopping for a moment, and Ypsilon took this moment to raise their sword above their head, poised to strike.

“I will go to Sovngarde!!!” they screamed, with a swift downward stroke, the sword hit home, tearing directly into the middle of its throat and then the rest of its body. 

The Storm Atronach behind them gave off a loud whirring noise, and then released an explosion, the force of it throwing them against one of the columns. It was gone. Ypsilon felt all the breath get knocked out of them and they got back up as soon as they could see clearly again. They tried to keep their breath, palms gripping at their knees, and they looked over to where the Dragon Priest once lay. It’s body was only ashes now, but resting within said ashes was it’s mask, the staff, and the little bits of its armor that had not disintegrated. 

Ypsilon stumbled over to the ashes, fishing out the staff and the mask. As their hands hit the intricately carved, ebony surface they heard many voices laid over one another whisper: “Nahkriin...”

“Was that your name…?” they asked, not really directing it to anyone. They had only just realized that each Dragon Priest had to had a name that meant something in Dovahzul. They’d fought 4 Dragon Priests, 5 accounting for Miraak at this point, but they had never realized the continuity of it. Ypsilon wondered what each of their names meant, and then they felt a bit sad because they wished they worked on honing their Dovahzul. They were sure that Paarthurnax would’ve taught them if they’d asked.

They held the staff firmly in their hand and went to the stage, stepping over the remains and rubble. Etched within the stage was a strange runic pattern, and they noticed an indentation in the center, and they placed the end of the staff within it. Their heart skipped a beat as the portal roared to life, the stone floor displacing, whirling around the swirling entry way to Sovngarde. Ypsilon gulped, and then looked back at the dragon skeletons, wondering if Miraak was telling the truth about not actually being here, or if there was something else lurking around. It could very well be another dragon, as they are able to take other dragon souls as well, but they couldn’t put their finger on the reason why the dragons would fight up here, so close to where Alduin went to hide.

They shook themselves out of their thoughts and looked towards the path to Sovngarde. It was the place of the afterlife for Nords, most likely also the ancient ones that their family and race had fought long ago. They hadn’t felt more unwelcome in their life, it was like they were intruding on something so personal and religious. They hadn’t considered it earlier, but now that they were here, their heart thrummed in their chest, hoping that there wasn’t some kind of REJECTION lever that would chuck them out before they could find Alduin. They fiddled with their hands a bit anxiously.

“Oh… Why couldn’t the Dragonborn just be some random Nord...” they muttered to themselves before taking in a deep breath.

 Well, then again the words in the prophecy about them did go ‘Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray’ so… they may as well pay those old prophets and warriors a visit and give them that blessing… They backed up a bit, sheathing their sword at their hip and with a running leap, they launched above the portal. Gravity worked its magic and tugged them back down, and they plummeted in, magic and power radiating from the clouds around them. They shut their eyes tight and tried to ignore the awful falling feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations (are canon lines from Nahkriin I believe?):
> 
> "Hin laas los dii." = “Your life is mine.”  
> "Fent ni fiilok." = “You shall not escape”   
> "Sosaal fah hin vothaarn." = “Bleed for your disobedience”


	12. Dissonant Hero of Sovngarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fighting, or at least the start of a fight. Of course, being Mer and all Ypsilon isn't quite certain in their standing in Sovngarde, but they'll be fine, I'm sure.
> 
> Also the Alduin is inspired by a modded Alduin so he's much more lava-y. Alongside the fact that if he were to just spit up fire like every other dragon, that'd be a little boring. Anyways, I felt like lava/magma would be fitting for one like Alduin because while lava consumes and destroys everything, it also can create.

As cold air flowed past them, and Ypsilon slowly came to, the breeze causing them to stir. They blinked, their eyes easily clearing up. All around them, were massive snow-capped mountains, and the clouds that swirled above their peaks were spectacular, colored soft purples, blues, and oranges. The clouds looked heavy with snow, and it was so cold, yet no snow fell. Their eyes surveyed the area around them, and they were sitting on a stone pathway, that was bordered with pairs of massive statues of what seemed to be hooded people. They smiled, they reminded them of the Greybeards. 

The pathway went someway until disappearing into this strange, light purple fog that was terrifyingly thick, and Ypsilon tried to see past it. The fog was a bit low, probably only about 7 feet high, and they could see a few peaks rising out of it nearby, and further than that they spotted a massive stone castle. They squinted from behind their mask, peering at it. They got to their feet, dusting themselves off a bit, before they looked directly up and saw the swirling clouds they must’ve entered from. Jeez… they couldn’t see the entrypoint, they must’ve fallen a long way. And yet, they didn’t feel any soreness from the fall. Come to think of it, they also didn’t feel pain in their injured leg. Were their injuries healed…?

They weren’t about to question it, but as they moved forward, they began to wonder where Alduin was at. As they neared the fog, it was as if their thoughts had been answered, and they felt the ground shudder as Alduin’s massive, dark form zoomed overhead, his wingbeats barely disrupting the fog. Ypsilon looked around and grimaced as they realized they would most likely have to go through it, and they took in a deep breath and pressed forth. They wondered if he’d even noticed them. They felt like they’d be a sore thumb amongst any Nords.

The fog was dense, and they could barely see a few feet in front of them, but their mind was set on moving forward. It smelt of magicka and fire, but that was not the worst possible smell to be smelled. In fact, it was a more mild smell than what they expected. They thought the Nordic afterlife would smell like decay or… alcohol or something? The Nords they’d met didn’t even like magic all that much! All they could hear was the roar of the wind following Alduin as he dove into the fog and flew above, and they felt their stomach sink when he came a bit too close, however he did not seem to notice them. They felt themselves tugged forward by some unseen force, and they followed this tug, feeling as if there was something they had to do.

They went through the fog, but they stopped in their tracks when someone ran up to them, it was a middle aged Nord woman, dressed in guard armor and she had a slight glow to her tan skin as she came forward. “You aren’t of here…” she said, her voice echoing. “Could you help me find my way? I can’t get to the Hall of Valor...”

The Hall of Valor, Ypsilon thought, that must be the castle rising up on the other side. The Hall of Valor was where Nords stayed in the afterlife, drinking and feasting and singing songs about their battles. “Why can’t you get there?” Ypsilon asked, confused, shouldn’t the path be easy? Or was it the fog? 

The guard shook her head. “This fog is making me lose my way. I can’t find my way.” she echoed, and Ypsilon feared she would vanish. 

Ypsilon felt the tug pulling at them again and nodded. “Come with me, don’t worry, we’ll get you there.” they said, waving for her to follow them.

As the two moved through, another Nord, a man appeared before them, clad in the red, silver, and gold Imperial armor. He started to move towards them, his mouth opening to say something, but before he could, a mighty gust of wind surged forth, and Alduin zoomed in, the only part of him you could make out his terrifying claws. He snatched the man up, quickly flying away, and Ypsilon felt panic enter their mind, and they grabbed the woman’s hand, picking up the pace. They hoped the tug they were feeling was correct. The wind blowing was all they could hear as their feet pounded at the loose dirt underfoot and they felt the guard clutch their hand tighter as they sped up. Oh no… they hoped they hadn’t lost their way. The sounds of wingbeats hit their ears, and they burst forth from the dense fog, falling on to some steps and the end of the path. 

They knelt for a moment to catch their breath, and the guard let go of their hand, and they looked up to watch her go towards a huge man, who stood just ahead. She gave them a look and whispered “thank you…” and they nodded. They turned to look at the fog behind them, it was unwavering, and it glittered slightly. Alduin wasn’t in sight, the area the fog covered was massive, and they could hear his wingbeats. How strange… They got to their feet, watching as the man, who was clad in heroic leather and fur armor, his chest bared, with a massive battleaxe in a holster slung over his shoulder, waved for the guard to cross towards the castle. Ypsilon’s eyes widened from behind their mask. The castle was so much larger up close, and it was sitting upon a tall island, which was suspended above the water below by a thin, gravity defying rock pillar. The only thing connecting to it from where they stood was an equally gravity defying bridge, but what was so interesting about the bridge was that it was made of pearly white whale bones, as if the creature had been laid across the gap normally. They were surprised with its size. The vertebrae were much taller than the guard as she passed by them, and they watched as she vanished across the bridge, one of the giant doors opening as she was welcomed inside. 

Nord afterlife was definitely something, they thought, walk forward towards the man. As they came closer, they noticed he was built like a literal brick house and their eyes widened as he towered over them. He was horrifying… He looked at them with friendly but fiery silver eyes and his voice startled them.  

“Halt. I am Tsun, Gatekeeper to the Hall of Valor. You are not of our people, nor are you…” he surveyed them for a moment. “...Dead… By what right are you here?”

Ypsilon felt their stomach sink, they weren’t sure what to say. “Ah, well…” their voice was quiet, before they realized that they needed to be here, they needed to help. Their voice picked up volume and they felt a bit more confident in that thought. “I am Dragonborn, I ventured here through the portal in Skuldafn! I come here by my right in the Way of the Voice. I’ve come here to slay the World-Eater.”

The gatekeeper stared at them for a moment before giving them a hard nod. “Ah, your coming here was prophesied…” he said, then trailed off before looking at them. “All Nords that come to Sovngarde have proven themselves in battle, and as I cannot prove that you have strength from your presence alone, you must prove yourself in battle. A spar match of sorts.” 

Ypsilon felt bewilderment enter them. “Right here?” 

He nodded. “Let us see if you are allowed to enter the hall of all our heroes.” he boomed. “Are you prepared?”

Ypsilon took in a deep breath and unsheathed their sword, watching him as he unhooked the massive iron battleaxe from his back. “Ready whenever you are.” they murmured, and as he stood ready, they took it upon themselves to make the first strike.  

They rushed forward, their sword clanging loudly against the iron shaft of the axe. He parried them with ease, using the axe’s length to his advantage to shove them back, and he spun the axe so that the sharp edge was swiped towards them. They ducked and rose their sword to parry it, and in the moment that his body was open, the used their free hand to blast a heated fire spell into his unarmed torso. He let out a grunt and stumbled backwards, and they surged forward, shooting more spells at him, and he was unrelenting despite all the spell hits he was taking. In fact, he didn’t actually seem to be taking any damage. They dodged more swipes with his axe with ease, and they swung their sword down, catching him on his shoulder, but it didn’t bleed. He used the end of his axe to dislodge their sword from their hands, causing it to clatter onto the stone floor underneath them.

“Damn…” they breathed, readying spells in both hands now, and Tsun looked down on them triumphantly, his axe poised to hit the from above. 

They rolled back, and his axe’s sharp edge was driven into the stone, causing it to crack. They took this moment of him being open, trying to dislodge the axe to grab their sword, but quickly decided against it. With a battle cry, they ran at him, jumping on to the butt of the axe, forcing it further into the stone, and they bathed the top half of his torso in frost magic.  

He knocked them off easily, and pulled out the axe from the ground, as if they hadn’t pushed it farther in. They landed on their feet a few feet away, their spells still ready in their hands, their muscles tense and he resheathed the axe to his back, giving them a dismissive wave of his hand. They closed their fists, the spells dismissing, and they went up to him. 

He gave them a wide smile, and nodded approvingly. “You fight well, although I would like to say ‘like a true Nord’, that wouldn’t apply.”

They nodded back at him, relief flooding their body. Any injuries they thought they’d gotten were not present. “Thank you, am I free to go in?” they asked, searching his expression for any resistance. 

“By all means, yes.” He cheered. “You have proven yourself fair and square. Within the hall, you will find three heroes inside who have been waiting for this day for a very long time, they go by the names of Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Hakon One-Eye, and Felldir the Old. They will aid you in battle.” 

Ypsilon gasped. “Oh! I think I recognize their names, they were the ones who rebelled against Alduin, the ones who attempted to slay him the first time!” The ones they learned Dragonrend from by watching them through the Elder Scroll. For the first time they felt a bit better about their fate, they feared to fight Alduin all alone. Although, even if they were forced to fight him alone, they would still attempt…  

Tsun nodded. “Indeed, they have been waiting for a long time… a little over 4 thousand years, I believe? Amongst them are other heroes, and of course a feast. You may want to get the cold out, the luxuries of Sovngarde are open to you for as long as you're here.” 

The time sounded about right. “Thank you, Tsun, although, there’s a couple thing I want to ask. Do I have a time limit to how long I can stay here? I’m still alive, and I’m an elf, this isn’t my place to be. And… also what is the fog, is it normal or…?” 

He shook his head. “Not until Alduin is dead, although, in order to preserve balance I must send you back afterwards.” 

“Seems fair.”

“Yes. And as far as the fog goes, no it’s not normal.” his voice seemed angry. “It’s Alduin’s soul snare, he’s been using it to catch the souls that arrive and try to get to the Hall. We’ve lost many of our dead to him, and they can never join us now.”

Ypsilon felt their breath get caught in their throat. “I’m sorry to hear it, really.” This was really bad, they thought. 

“You needn’t be sorry. You’re to be the slayer of Alduin, and you will take care of that snare, allowing souls to pass through. You’re meant to be savior of Skyrim, hero of the world, and stop the end of time!” 

Ypsilon nodded firmly, hands falling to their hips. “Of course, I’ll set the souls free, and I’ll save Skyrim!” Oh how those words sounded so much better said verbally, yet they literally felt so nervous about this. Their head was spinning. 

“Well, then go on ahead, we will meet again soon I’m sure.”

Feeling hesitant, Ypsilon gave him a nod, and he gave them a small smile and they went to retrieve their sword, replacing it into its sheath, and walked up to the bridge. Their eyes fell upon the whale bones, and they worried for its stability, placing one foot down on a thick one. It held fine, and they moved their other foot to it, taking baby steps. Tsun watched them amusedly as they did so, and he noticed they were trying to not look down. Well, they looked down, anyways. It was a sheer drop, and they felt their stomach do a backflip as they stared at the glistening water far, far below. If they fell, they would definitely die, however that worked if they were walking around the afterlife, anyways. They picked up the pace, and scrambled to the other side anxiously, they definitely did not want to fall, and as soon as their feet struck solid land, they sighed outwardly. 

Now, the massive Hall of Valor loomed directly above them, the Dragonborn clenched their fists, tensing up. They could hear heavy drum beats from outside, and singing reached their ears. It was many voices, and they went closer to the door, hand going out to push it open, but instead of opening on their touch, it swung open before that. Golden light, like the light of many fires and candles almost blinded them, and they were surprised by it, but they moved into the golden passageway, hoping that their eyes wouldn’t die.

Blinking, they felt warm, no longer cold. The walls were tall and stony, the roof was so high above them, they wondered how someone could even build such a thing. Then again, this was Sovngarde, no one built it, most likely. The huge walls were adorned with blazing torches, the rocky floor decorated with fur pelts, and tables and kegs of mead stretched for as far as they could see. There was plates piled high with food, a whole cow was on the spitroast, and they almost drooled a bit because the smell was all too much. Nord food was never this appealing, usually it was too heavy for them, and they had trouble stomaching it, and they watched as a few heroes piled up food on to their plates, or even opting to sink their teeth directly into the meat off a bone.  

The hall was long, and there were many, many people, all of them having a slight glow to them, and they chalked that off to them being technically dead. However, they certainly didn’t look or act dead, and they wandered the hall, singing, eating, and laughing loudly at each other. They looked as if they didn’t care or notice that the World Eater was outside eating their dead, but maybe Ypsilon was just taking things at surface level here.  

They held their ground close to the door, uncertain of their place. They felt small, and they _were_ in comparison to the others here, and they shifted from foot to foot, hoping no one took too much notice of the silent mer. Perhaps no one would pay much attention to their appearance as their mask hid their features, and they were thankful that their face could not be seen. If it had been, their worry would’ve been reflected in their features. Their eyes traced around the crowds, wincing when they spotted what could be Ysgramor amongst some others. For a moment they began worrying, as they were sure some Nords here had definitely struck down some Snow Elves in their time, but they hoped that time being dead had maybe permitted these people to not hold grudges...  

Their eyes caught on to some movement in their peripheral vision, and they noticed three people approaching them. Those must be the warriors that Tsun mentioned… and they were right. Two were middle aged, their battle paint completely perfect, and they were both armed in steel armor, the other, a very old man with a grey beard was on their right hand side, and Ypsilon instantly noted that his robes were that of the Greybeards. Actually identical, too. These were the three they had learned the Dragonrend shout from, by watching them in a memory from the past.  

What they assumed was the proto-Greybeard began to talk to them and they attentively looked towards him. “Dragonborn, you have finally come…” he said, “Your coming was prophesied Alduin knew and prepared himself, yet you already damaged Alduin once, we have the advantage now, definitely.” 

“You have no idea how long we’ve waited for this day!” the other middle aged man cheered. 

“Indeed!” the middle aged woman shouted grinning. “Let’s see this scoundrel off with his tail in between his legs!” 

“So, you will help me fight the World Eater?” Ypsilon asked, looking at all of them. 

“Of course!” the woman said, and Ypsilon identified her as Gormlaith Golden-Hilt. “We have nothing but fire in our veins, ready to fight the beast once and for all.” 

“We were disappointed to see that the World Eater was not banished for all eternity, rather, pushed forward in time.” the old man said. Felldir, this was Felldir. “My sincerest apologies.” 

“It’s alright…” Ypsilon murmured, although they wondered if this was even an apology or more of an acknowledgement. “I doubt it could’ve been foreseen.” 

“Alas, what else could we have done?” The middle aged man said, and Ypsilon realized this was Hakon One Eye. “We needed the Dragonborn to actually put him down, and we couldn’t get that so now we have the last one!” 

Gormlaith nodded her eyes training on Ypsilon, who shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “And it seems like this one is raring to go!” _Were they really?_  

“Unlike the first one.” Hakon said under his breath to the other two, his lips curling upwards slightly like he was disgusted. Ypsilon tried to pay no mind to this, but they were startled by the poison in his voice. “Dragonborn, you’ll be able to do this right?” 

Felldir seemed level-headed enough, and the old man went to the door, and Ypsilon followed closely. They gripped at their own hands, unwilling to turn to the Nord warrior as him and Gormlaith followed behind the two. “Yes, I should be.” they answered, hoping their worries didn’t show up in their tone. “I’ve honed myself for a long time, I should be able to dispel Alduin once and for all.”

Gormlaith grinned and laughed, giving Ypsilon a hard pat on the back. “Do not fear, shield-sibling, you will have us three by your side!” 

The fact that she recognized their worry in their voice and that she recognized them as a member of The Companions reminded them of Aela, and their thoughts drifted to Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, and especially, Lydia. Eventually drifting to the students at the Mage’s College as well… It’d been a while since they’d seen them all… hm. They hoped their friends would all be well, along with everyone else. They took a moment to ponder the fact that these old companions were likely not a fan of their Mer blood, however they were not showing it, so they ignored it. Their thoughts were stopped short as the door swung open, and the cold rushed in, Ypsilon pleased with the temperature. 

“Let us be swift!” Hakon said, veering in front of Ypsilon and Felldir, rushing onto the whale bone bridge, running past Tsun, who watched them all closely. Ypsilon and Felldir followed close after, and so did Gormlaith.  

Hakon had stopped abruptly at the fog, and so did the rest. They all drew their weapons, and Ypsilon followed suit, unsure of what to do. Or what they planned to do. Their eyes studied the glisteing fog, and they pondered what to do for a moment, when Gormlaith spoke up. 

“We can combine our Clear Skies shouts to get rid of the mist!” 

That’s it! They thought. “On… one… two… three!” Hakon said, and a chorus of the shout hit Ypsilon’s ears. 

“ _LOK VAH KOOR”_ They followed up on the tails of the others, and the world reverberated with the combination of the shouts for a moment, the fog beginning to fade. 

As they gazed around, the world shook and Ypsilon almost fell when the booming voice of Alduin shouted “ _VEN MUL RIIK!_ ” At the sound of his voice, the fog came back, this time even more darker and denser than it was before. Ypsilon let out a soft huff. 

“Again?” Ypsilon asked them, and Hakon nodded.  

“Again!” Hakon shouted, and the echoes of the Clear Skies shout sounded again, this time, the fog pulling back almost entirely. 

The ground trembled, like a massive beast inside was waking up, and Alduin repeated himself, the irritation lining his voice. “ _VEN. MUL. RIIK.”_ Every word was harshly pronounced and the fog rolled back again and Ypsilon was so worried, they felt a bad feeling in their gut, and then noticed as Gormlaith looked upset. 

“Does his strength have no end!?” she groaned and Felldir was quick to look at her and say: “His strength is waning, one more time!” 

Divines, Ypsilon’s strength was waning, and they wondered if this would even work, or if Alduin would just keep putting his clouds back. Damn you, Alduin. Ypsilon breathed in and out, deeply, trying to relax, before starting to shout. The ground shuddered again, and the Clear Skies shout rang out again, their voices layering over one anothers, this time louder than ever. The fog pulled back completely, and they let out a sigh of relief.  

It was in this moment, when the air and sky felt like it had shattered and the loudest, most terrifying roar sounded, and the swirling lavender clouds became a pale red. The sound of heavy wingbeats began, and Ypsilon watched as Alduin glided overhead, calm and cocky, as if they weren’t here to slay him. His scales were black like the night, and parts of him glowed at the seams, like his body was hardened magma, and that within him, there was nothing but fire and lava. His eyes burned like white-hot embers and he swooped above them, a roar tearing from his throat, as he burst out flame, alighting the cold sky. 

Ypsilon thought this would cause the heavy clouds to dump their contents, but it seemed this wouldn’t be the case as Alduin lowered himself to hover just before them. “Dovahkiin! It is time!” Alduin boomed, and Ypsilon held their bow tightly in their hands, an arrow already in it, pulled back at ready. “You shall not escape Sovngarde with your life, and you shall not beat me! My tyranny is still far from over, and yet you try to defy me. How pitiful.” 

His common language was impeccable, they thought, unlike Paarthurnax, and even Odahviing, they had heavy accents and spoke more phrases in Dovahzul. Alduin was perfect however, and if it was a sign of him being a god, or if it just proved that he knew how people spoke due to his time ruling over them, they weren’t sure. They didn’t care to waste their breath on him, other than shouts of course. 

“You are the one who won’t leave here, worm!” Gormlaith shouted, and Alduins’ beady eyes pinpointed her, and he let out a low bellowing noise that sounded like a laugh. 

“Foul human, you were unable to beat me last time, what power makes you believe you could?”

He was taunting them, and Ypsilon watched as it seemed like Gormlaith and Hakons metaphorical hackles rose, and Ypsilon stared at Alduin. He wanted to anger them, to make them lose their footing and their wits, and Ypsilon wasn’t in the mood for this. They released the arrow from their grasp, and it flew with great speed towards Alduin. It bounced off his hide uselessly, and he seemed amused, his eyes squinting. 

“Ah… We will begin.” Alduin said, landing on the ground before opening his mouth, fire bubbling in the back of it, and he released his fire directly at all four of them, forcing them to scatter in different directions.  

Ypsilon ducked and rolled, watching as the fire was more viscous than anything they saw, and they watched as the orange stuff hardened into dark lava rocks. That was new. They fired a few more arrows at him, aiming for the softer parts of his face, such as his eyes and throat, but they continued to bounce off. Alduin’s neck went up and he roared towards the heavens, the sky beginning to swirl more than usual, and he spat more magma at Ypsilon, who dodged, running as fast as they could. 

Electricity surged towards Alduin from behind, guided by Felldir the Old’s hands, and it surged up his spine, but overall had no effect. Alduin spent no time turning, and instead lashed at the old man with his tail, the thick, spiked tip bashing into the old man, who thrown onto the nearby rocky base of the mountain. He was quick to get up and Alduin, annoyed, swiped at him again, pinning the man with his tail, threatening to crush him. 

Both of the warriors, Gormlaith and Hakon ran at him from either side, weapons raised to attack, and their swords clanged against the scales of his neck with a painfully loud ring, and Alduin blinked, not bothered. He opened his mouth again, spurting lava at the two of them, waving his head back and forth, and Hakon dashed away into the clear, while Gormlaith ran along his side, attempting to shove her sword into his messy, already torn wings. Although her attempts were good, they were in vain, because her sword refused to pierce the skin. Meanwhile Alduin let more flames out in Hakons direction and Ypsilon’s direction, crushing Felldir with his tail. Gormlaith let out an angry scream, shoving the sword at the wings, and Alduin finally paid attention to what she was doing, flaring out his wings in response.

Her sword clanged loudly against him, and she let out a gasp as her sword broke, the steel shattering along the hilt, causing the blade itself to separate from the part she was holding. Alduin was quick to take to the skies, and Ypsilon watched as he whirled upwards, releasing Felldir from his pin. His wings were massive, and he skimmed just above them, his talons outstretched poised to grab them, but they ducked in that moment. 

Felldir was helped to his feet by Gormlaith, and he glanced toward Ypsilon. “Dragonborn! Use Dragonrend!”  

Hakon held his sword at ready, and Alduin looked at him, letting out a loud roar as molten rock began falling from the swirling skies. Alduin then quickly zoomed above Hakon, knocking into him with his open claws, which Hakon parried, his sword horizontal against the massive, glinting claws. Alduin used his momentum to shove Hakon back, he rolled back towards the edge of the cliff and Ypsilon let out the booming Dragonrend shout pour from their soul, and Alduin was instantly struck with the blue light. However, he didn’t land immediately, Alduin trying to keep in the wind despite the pressure of the light bearing down on him. It was terrifyingly impressive. 

An angered roar tore from Alduin’s throat, and Alduin was slow to turn his attention to Ypsilon, instead focusing Hakon. He pushed him towards the edge, Hakon cornered between the sheer drop and the massive dragon, it’s wings outstretched, talons ready to hook into him.  

“Stop!” Ypsilon screeched, dashing forwards to Alduin and Hakon, placing their bow on their back and unsheathing their sword.

Gormlaith was running too, and they heard her heavy breaths behind them, and they swiped at Alduin, who rose with heavy wing beats, just out of their reach. Gormlaith’s weapon missed and whizzed by Ypsilon’s head, who was startled and ducked lower to the ground. Alduin gained altitude, and Hakon stumbled to his feet, only to get engulfed in flame by Alduin, the orange lava covering him completely. The rock began to harden around him, darkening completely, leaving Hakon trapped inside. Ypsilon didn’t know what to do to get him out, so they ran towards the mountain, trying to predict where Alduin would land.

“Hakon, _no!_ ” Gormlaith shouted, and her attention drifted towards the World Eater, and she gritted her teeth. “You fiend!”  

Alduin flew above, his body finally giving into the Dragonrend. He fell at the base of the mountain, now trying to sink his wicked looking teeth into Felldir, who shot spells at him, the spells bouncing off his hide. The falling lava rocks struck around Ypsilon, and they dodged, trying to not get hit by the rocks. One smashed by their feet, and they took their bow off their back, firing a couple arrows into Alduin, and they finally hit! Ypsilon let out a glad shout, watching as the arrows pierced his hide, and Alduin barely flinched, unrelenting on Felldir, who stumbled back, desperately dodging from Alduin’s teeth.  

Gormlaith surged forward, her sword at ready, and Ypsilon watched as she ran on by, continuing to riddle arrows into Alduin, and one of their arrows hit him square in his already battle scarred eye. He let out a shrieking roar, the flaming rocks falling from the sky, and Ypsilon was having trouble dodging them, and they got hit square on the back, it crumbling at the impact. All the air knocked out of them as they fell to their knees. Luckily, it hit their armor, there was nothing to light on fire, and yet they still felt the incredible searing pain as the metal heated up. They let out a pained cry, but they heard a much louder cry above their own, and confused they looked up. 

Alduin had Gormlaith trapped in his jaws and she struggled to swipe at anything in reach, aiming for his nose. He swung her back and forth like a huge dog with a chew toy, and Felldir let out a screech “Let her go!!” as he flung an ice spell into Alduin’s eyes and nose.  

Ypsilon stumbled to their feet, trying to intercept, but Alduin let go of Gormlaith, hurling her away, her limp body getting thrown against the ridge of the rocky mountain, before she plummeted down the side. Ypsilon instead ran to her, attempting to intercept her fall, when they noticed Felldir get crushed by Alduin’s tail again, the old man squirming underneath the heavy weight. Ypsilon caught Gormlaith before she landed, and they took note of her breathing, putting her down before focusing on the poor Felldir as he struggled, casting spells into the dragon’s tail to no avail. Ypsilon raised their sword, Alduin taking note of this and whirling around to face them, the Dragonrend had still not worn off, yet he flared his wings and walked on his hind legs towards them, like some kind of large, monstrous bird. There was only one way to get to Felldir, and they did not like it.  

They darted under his wings, and Alduin quickly reflexed to stop them. His wings still raised, his spiked tail raising off of Felldir and whacking Ypsilon square in their gut, tossing them to the side with ease. They were knocked off their feet, the air knocked out of them, and they fell against a large rock that bordered the waterfall that went off the edge. They let out a gasp of pain, and they watched as the World-Eater was no longer pinned by Dragonrend, and he lifted off, wheeling around, and breathing out flame.  

They felt water licking through their boots, and they shuddered out a deep breath. No, not like this… They were the Last Dragonborn, they had to win, there was no way they could lose! That just wasn’t how destiny worked, was it? They felt their head become unimaginably heavy, and their eyes start to fall shut. _Come on, just get up!_ Their thoughts were wild as they felt themselves grow weaker and weaker, their body not listening to them whatsoever. They tried to open their eyes, succeeding for a moment, noticing Felldir the Old laying in the grass, still as a statue, and they gazed above watching as Alduin wheeled above, the sky alight with his flames and the falling rocks striking the ground, displacing it.  

Were any Nords going to come out? They thought, bewildered. They assumed it was already incorrect if the three of them joined the battle with them, but… They didn’t care about the prophecy, they really didn’t! Why did the Dovahkiin have to fight an impossible battle alone? And most of all, why did the Dovahkiin have to be them! They weren’t a Nord, they weren’t young, hell, they were probably older than some other Dragonborns in history! How on Nirn were they the Last! Their mind felt muddled, and they shut their eyes as they watched Alduin fly in much closer, hovering with his mouth slightly ajar, fire bubbling in the back of his mouth. 

“You Dovahkiin, are not granted eternal life as your companions are. They are connected to Sovngarde and thus will continue to exist.” Alduin’s voice boomed all around them, and there was nothing they could do as they felt an intense warmth. “However, you are of Mundus, your body is mortal and weak, you will cease to be. You will die in a realm where no one will remember you!” 

They opened their eyes slightly to watch as Alduin raised his head, the lava bubbling out from the sides of his mouth, as he shot his flame upwards and he looked down upon them, and they shut their eyes tight as the heat heightened, and the flames raged towards them.  

“ _ MUL QAH DIIV! _ ” Those words hit their ears and they felt confused as the flames never hit them. They blinked their eyes and their eyes widened as they slowly focused on a terrifying, but welcome sight. 

Glowing spikes, ethereal armor, long curved horns, along with a massive set of wings adorned the man that stood in front of them. It was all transparent, glowing a bright orange with blue pulsating through it, and Ypsilon could just barely make out the dark robes behind it. His wings wrapped in front of him, shielding both himself and Ypsilon from the flames expelled by Alduin, and Ypsilon let out a choked cry of shock, trying to get to their feet. 

Alduin’s eyes glared angrily, his wings flaring as he took to the skies, hovering in front of the two. “Oh, it’s you.” he growled. “What a surprise that such a meager parasite would’ve survived this long after the failure you deemed a ‘rebellion’.” 

Miraak. Miraak in the flesh, not some ethereal form stood in front of Ypsilon. In Sovngarde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back! :3c
> 
> I've always entertained the thought of how interesting it'd be if Miraak helped the Last Dragonborn fight Alduin, so here's that.


	13. Never Fear, Miraak Is Here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for a fight, blood, and violence.
> 
> Yeah! Love the thought of Miraak fighting Alduin. It's really an interesting topic to go over, if I'm being honest, but I wasn't able to really integrate the emotions of Miraak into the fic due to the pacing and how I'd written it. But I like to think him facing down Alduin is genuinely one of his life dreams, as it's essentially killing off anything pertaining to the Dragon Cult once and for all.
> 
> Tbh, I always forget to say that they constantly wear a backpack? And other packs, too. I think writing this I forgot that too ^^;;
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the end of the fic.

The flames surged around Miraak, and his closeness to Ypsilon was protecting them too. They watched his wings twitch slightly, and then flare outwards, his sword ready in his hands. Alduin glared, his wings beating heavily as his lips peeled back, showing every single dark tooth in his maw. It was as if time itself stood still for a moment, and then Alduin started to speak, his tone low and horrifying. 

“Ah, so the First Dragonborn has reared his ugly head. I thought the  _ Deyra _ had defiled you.” He spoke, and Ypsilon watched as Alduin's face came close to Miraak, who didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even twitch. “No matter, I shall devour both your souls now, how foolish - you have prepared me a buffet.”

Miraak stifled a low laugh. “you forget to consider the feast that we’ll be provided. A gods’ soul? Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of devouring that.” He snarled at Alduin, who with mighty wing flaps flew above, circling above the two, breathing heated flame on the sky and clouds above.  

Ypsilon felt their mind go blank for a moment, their head lolling to the side as they felt the water drag at their feet. A hand gripped at their forearm, hoisting them to their feet, and they were dizzy as they felt hands gripping at their shoulders, holding them tight. Their feet splashed in the water as they stumbled. 

“Dovahkiin, wake up.” his voice was distant to them and they didn’t know what to do as all they saw was white. 

They heard him sigh outwardly, and then they felt his hands grip them tighter for a moment, the feeling of warmth from his wings making them heat up. It was in that moment, that life was suddenly shoved back into Ypsilon, and their soul literally thrummed with the force of it entering them. Their eyes opened widely from behind their mask, twitching as they watched the orange and blue tendrils of dragon souls pouring from MIraak into them. Wordlessly, they felt the connection between them grow and grow, only to extinguish upon the 5th and final dragon soul entered them. They felt their body roaring to life, their fingertips surging with magicka, their energy peaking, the pain numbing and their mind swam with all these strange thoughts about shouts and they wondered if they were his thoughts. They felt suddenly very alive. 

“Miraak?” their voice echoed, trying to find out what he was doing, and why he was doing this. 

“There is no time to explain.” he said, his voice reverberating off of his mask in the familiar metallic way. “A soul to awaken you, another to heal your wounds, the other three infused with all my knowledge of the Dragon Aspect shout. All of them to give you incredible power.”

“Are you going to help me fight?” Ypsilon asked, and for a moment Miraak turnt from them and they felt their heart sink. Why… Why did he do this?

Ypsilon felt extreme shock when his words hit their ears. “It is my duty to you. I won’t allow you to die here.” was all he said, and Ypsilon felt their heart beat faster at the fact that he was doing the same that they had done for him in Apocrypha. Although, this they had to kill something to survive. 

Ypsilon gave him a quick nod. “Thank you.” they said genuinely, before giving him a light jest. “Well. If we get out of this alive this is one thing you can cross off on your bucket list.”

Miraak made a light ‘pfft’ noise before shaking his head. “You have low expectations. Take control of your own fate, not only is yours resting on it, but so is everyone else’s.” he responded. 

Ypsilon felt their stomach drop a bit, but admittedly his words set in. They had a lot resting on their shoulders, and their ‘go-with-the-flow’ attitude had never worked. Taking in a deep breath they considered the people and the world which was riding on their success here.  

Giving Miraak a steady nod and giving his arm a quick squeeze, they wished he could see the relief in their expression from behind their mask. However, the bizarre connection their souls had was enough to get it across. “We won’t fail.” Ypsilon answered, their words confident. “We’ll do it together.” 

They only had so much time for conversation as Alduin blew more fire over the clouds, and they began to become even more red and angry, swirling around. Ypsilon glared at the massive dragon, and a roar emitted from their mouth. “Alduin, World Eater!” they screamed. “You will meet your end, here and now!” 

As if answering, Alduin suddenly shouted, and then the molten rock that had been falling since the beginning started again, but this time, it was much more dangerous. The chunks were larger, and everytime they hit the ground it displaced the earth and there was a small spurt of lava, threatening to singe everything in its vicinity. Feeling stronger than ever before, Ypsilon opted to use a conjured sword, their magicka creating a weapon from thin air, Alduin wheeled downwards, his talons poised to hit them. The two ducked out of the way, getting seperated, but that was fine. 

“Foolish worms!” the massive dragon roared as Alduin harassed them both from all angles, swooping and diving, breathing thick magma onto the ground. “You are nothing more than a thorn in my hide, needing to be plucked out! Hear my voice and despair!”  

He belted out a shout directly towards Miraak who ducked and rolled, before sending Fire Breath crashing into the massive black dragon. The flames glowed against the black scales. “I’ve lived 4,000 years to see your demise, _hi sahlag, pahlokaal ahvakaar_!” Miraak roared in response.  

“ _Zent nid vuld!_ ” Alduin returned with a might roar. “You will fail again just as you did before!” 

Ypsilon wasn’t taking well to Alduin calling out Miraak’s failures, and with a surge of anger and adrenaline, they shot an ice spike directly in Alduin’s tongue as his mouth was open. The World-Eater’s jaws snapped shut, and the fight began more aggressively. 

Ypsilon tried to keep track of Miraak but quickly lost him as Alduin swooped and dived, his fire breath coating the areas around them with nothing but hardened lava rock. Ypsilon shot ice spikes at him, these things melting on contact with his body, and they watched as Alduin effortlessly dodged away from every single on of Miraak’s spells and shouts. Their body was on fire, and so was their dragon soul, and they glared at Alduin, watching as he almost cockily circled overhead, knowing that there was nothing that could be done. They were so annoyed, so angry, so _ enraged  _ by the gall of this dragon. Sure he was a son of a god, yes, he was most likely a god himself, and yet… Alduin had caused so many issues, not only for them, but also their friends. People lost their lives, their homes, even the dead’s spirits were gone. Their acquaintances were hurt too; they looked towards the incapacitated Nordic Heroes, feeling guilt rise in their chest. And not even to mention Miraak, he was a direct creation of the urge to rebel against Alduin and the other dragons under his command. 

They felt anger surge into themselves, and they forced the dragonrend shout outward with such force, that as soon as it struck Alduin square in his belly, the bright blue light shoved him straight to the earth. The force of it was ridiculous, and there was a dull thud noise accompanied by the sound of cracking bone and splintering earth. Alduin let out a shriek of pain, the scream reverberating off the air itself, echoing horribly in Ypsilon’s ears. They winced and clasped a free hand over one ear, still trying to keep mobile. The blue light from the heavens above dug the World Eater into the earth, his wings clawing at the outcroppings of rock that his fall had created around him.

“That… _what is that shout_?” Miraak gasped, his voice low and disoriented, startled. He felt the force of Dragonrend flow through his body, his Dragon Aspect wavering momentarily.  

Ypsilon didn’t hear the sound of his voice as they rushed forwards, their conjured sword cutting a gash clean in Alduin’s wing. He screeched again, tilting his head and breathing fire at Ypsilon, who was nearly hit by it, if Miraak once again hadn’t jumped in the way. Alduin screamed with rage, tail thrashing and spitting fire at the two as they struggled to find openings along his massive, armored body. Miraak tried to remain in front of Ypsilon, his large, shimmering wings flared to keep them behind him, not allowing them to get hurt from the flames coming from Alduin’s maw. At this point though, Miraak’s body seemed to be on fire, too. However, Ypsilon was deft and kept darting past Miraak, landing hits on Alduin’s searing body. 

Every hack and slash felt like it did nothing, because the World Eater just kept thrashing and roaring and breathing fire at them, and then as soon as the blue light pressing him to the earth dissipated, he was quick to get back to the wind. The dark red clouds welcomed him, flowing around him and spewing more haphazards down onto the two below. 

“Does his strength have no end?!” Ypsilon groaned, watching the falling meteors, trying to dodge them. 

“He is strong.” Miraak responded, before shaking his head, a snarl imminent in his voice. “But we are stronger.” 

They dodged with ease, but Ypsilon heard a gasp from Miraak as some lava caught him on the sleeve. Their eyes fell to him, making sure he was alright. He had quickly snuffed out the fire, and then Ypsilon glared at the clouds above, only to find Alduin spiraling around, turning directions to a different area of Sovngarde. 

“No! You aren’t getting away a second time!” Ypsilon let out a shout of anger, accompanying it with frost breath, the ice spikes crashing into Alduin’s belly, causing him to fumble as he fluttered away.  

Miraak copied their action, trying to land more ice spikes in him, and the wind whistled with the force of the ice shooting up into the sky. It missed his belly completely, but it hit its mark square in Alduin’s right wing, piercing through the delicate webbing. Alduin let out another shriek, and like a lightning flash, he wheeled around with extreme speed, tucking in his wings as he flew directly towards the two. He dived at Miraak, who was able to jump away from his talons with ease, but Ypsilon was instantly crushed underneath his talons as Alduin landed. 

The ground heaved as Alduin put his whole weight on the single spot, causing the rock to shatter underneath him. He rubbed at the floor, as if crushing a bug, and then for a moment, flared out his tattered wings. Miraak was forced to try and cover his ears from over the top of his head covering, the triumphant roar far too loud and far too painful for him to even consider. Miraak fell to one knees, giving a light grunt as Alduin turned his attention to him, turning in place to look at him. The ice spikes had caused some damage to Alduin’s body, blood welling up in certain areas of his head from where the spikes were lodged. They began to melt away, the water dripping down into the grass. 

“Even two Dovahkiin have no chance of defeating me.” Alduin’s gaze was upon him, and he could feel it burning through him, as if Alduin was staring at his soul and the fact that the dragon within him was hunched over, its head bowed as if mourning a loss. “Mortals and dovah are far removed from one another, even a mortal with the soul of dov will meet its match against the Lord of All Dragons. It’s a shame that you have even tried.” 

“You are a sad excuse for what should be regarded as great. You are mangled and foul, far from anything close to your glory days.” Miraak snarled. “ _Funt paal_ , you are easy to beat.” 

Alduin’s lips curled up, and he bared his teeth at Miraak, talons digging into the dirt, and by extension the Last Dragonborn. “Do you not understand who you are speaking to _joor mey? DROG DO DOVAH, ALDUIN_!” he boomed. “Do you not see the current outcome of this battle or does your arrogance blind you!?”  

Miraak shook his head. “Ah, Alduin, you should reconsider your own words. Your own arrogance blinds you… or perhaps it is the blood in your eyes.” his voice was cool and calm, and this sparked Alduin’s rage even further. 

Alduin was angered, his red eyes glowing like embers and he rushed forward, abandoning the spot that he had just crushed Ypsilon, and tearing forward through the ground, the rock and dirt being thrown up into the air as he surged at Miraak. Miraak stood there, as if asking for a death wish, before Alduin snapped him up in his jaws, the noise of the bite creating a disgusting crunch. Alduin thrashed his head back and forth for a moment, before feeling the most disgusting feeling on his tongue. Cold, _so so cold_ , why was he this way? The form of Miraak wavered for a moment and shattered in a blast of ice, the sharp spikes of the magical ice lodging itself into his mouth, upon his tongue, in his gums, and down his throat.  

Alduin let out a shriek, and noticed as Miraak had reappeared behind him, the ex-Dragon Priest tugging Ypsilon, wrapped up safely in their own pale blue Dragon Aspect wings, out of the ground where Alduin had thought he had ended them. They unfurled their wings, poised to shout, and Alduin turn clumsily around, he wasn’t as agile as he was on the air, and he couldn’t lift off due to the sustained damage. He crawled forward, his posture still high and head held high above the two of them despite the ice spikes poking out between the scales that bordered his mouth. 

“ _HOW DARE YOU DEFY-_!” Alduin boomed, mouth wide open, lava bubbling up in the back of his throat, it was seeping along his tongue, melting the ice and hitting the ground, hardening on contact with the grass.  

He cut himself short as he spat lava at the two, but it never made its mark. “ _ FO KRAH DIIN!”  _ The Last Dragonborn shouted, their voice causing the entirety of Sovngarde to shudder as the ice breath took form, negating his fire breath against all odds. 

The World Eater was shocked as Miraak used his own frost breath on him, the ice spikes not just exploding within the soft parts of his jaw, but directly back into his throat. Alduin shuddered and wobbled slightly, the spikes jabbing into him, jutting out the back of his neck. He steadied himself with his wings. 

“ _ THERE IS NO WINNING!”  _ Alduin shrieked, wings flaring upwards, as he belted out shrieks and roars of pain, the world was shuddering in a continual earthquake, the dark red clouds swirling down towards him.

Wind blew as Alduin began to glow with an intense light. His body arched, his snout pointing towards the heavens, his wings flared outwards, as his massive talons anchored into the ground. It was as if he was trying to take everything in with him, and the gusts of wind became stronger and stronger, the world’s rumbling becoming worse and worse, and the loose dirt and rock, flowed towards his body. His glow became redder and more brighter, and Ypsilon shielded their eyes from the brightness of the light. It was as if every bit of matter that was being absorbed was fueling him, and their clothing was being blown with such force that they’d worry that he’d take them in too. They felt hands grip at them, the spikey metal part of Miraak’s bracers digging through the fabric seams in between their armor and against their skin. Ypsilon feared that Sovngarde itself would be uprooted and taken within the World-Eater, and his name seemed extremely accurate to what was going on. 

Ypsilon felt anger and fear well up in them, and they wrenched themselves out of Miraak’s grip, he made a startled noise and they rushed forwards, their own bright blue glowing wings flaring as they let themselves be sucked in by the wind. Their sword was poised to stab Alduin. “There _is_ winning! And it’s happening right _now_!” they shrieked, driving their sword into the underside of Alduin’s chin. It pierced the weakened flesh and Ypsilon felt blood, hot as magma seep into the cracks of their armor.  

They dragged it downwards, the force of gravity suddenly returning, and Alduin suddenly let out a noise that was far too strained and human to be that of the same massive beast from earlier. “ _ Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan _ ?” the voice was angry, but also incredibly strained and almost… fearful. “NooooooooOOOOOO!” the final part coming out in waves, the mere sound of Alduin’s screeching causing Sovngarde to shake and shudder, the shockwaves causing everything that Alduin was forcing into himself to be shot back out, destroying the area further. 

The lava that covered the ground from his shouts shattered with a blinding light, and that lava swirled back towards him, his form melting and writhing as the what damage he caused swirled back towards him. Ypsilon watched in horror, tossed away from Alduin’s body from the shockwaves, landing against Miraak and gripping at his robes. Tendrils of a dragon soul erupted from Alduin's body, heading towards the sky, and vanishing from sight within the clouds. The lava that had surrounded Hakon shattered, and Hakon dropped to the ground, beginning to stir. The sky began to swirl, the cloud that were around him tugged away, replacing themselves back in the sky. However, the reddish color was literally torn from it, and it swirled towards him, gathering into his body and Alduin’s now melted and blobbish form took on a crimson red hue, like that of blood. The form that could be made out to be his head and neck twisted about, trying to survey himself, before a final roar tore from his throat, the world tremoring the worst it had been, and then it was all over.

Alduin’s form vanished completely in an explosive flash, and then Sovngarde relaxed, the clouds lazily moving along the mountains as they had been before. Ypsilon wobbled, and Miraak’s hands hooked underneath their armpits, lowering them to the ground gently. 

“Thank you… Thank you Miraak.” they whispered, their voice almost gone, they had to close their eyes as the world spun around them.  

They felt a light grip on their shoulders from him, and he was about to speak when another voice cut into his.  

“...Miraak...?” Hakon’s voice was soft, as if it hurt to be used.

“That’s really him, is it not?” Felldir’s voice came next. 

“That’s absolutely that son of a-” Gormlaith was cut off by Hakon. 

“Why show yourself now, after we request you help us earlier? What was your change of plans? You didn’t want to kill the World Eater!” Hakon growled, and Ypsilon heard him come closer. 

Miraak stood his ground, his hands still gripping at them, but they could feel the dragon in him telling him to fight or flee. He didn’t speak to them, and Gormlaith talked again, anger lining her voice. 

“Why? Why now? Have you given up on your sick plot? And yet you have the gall to use the Last Dragonborn for whatever your selfish purposes may be?” Gormlaith snarled. 

Sick plot? Selfish purposes? He’d just helped them! What else could he be doing? Felldir’s voice spoke up next, and Ypsilon felt their stomach lurch anxiously, and they didn’t know what to think, their mind going blank from the sheer worry of it. 

“You wanted to let the World Eater consume this world. You wanted to recreate a world with the exact same pantheon of Divine and Daedra, and yet, instead of Akatosh crowned and center, it would be you.” Felldir hissed. “What. Has. Changed?” 

Ypsilon wanted Miraak to speak, to confirm this as not true. “Ah. A plot of thousands of years ago, a plot that was _dropped_.” He hissed.  

“Is that so?” Gormlaith echoed, and Ypsilon realized that the three Heroes had been circling the two of them, threatening to jump on Miraak at any moment. “We saw that the last thing you worked on failed miserably.” 

“The All Maker stones could’ve granted you this. You were building temples around them, toiling in Apocrypha as you used innocent lives to build a backbone for your future world.” Felldir stated, his voice curling with disgust.  

“You deal with the Daedra, resort to backhanded tactics, and aim for the creation of a new world after you _allow_ Alduin to eat this one, and you have the nerve to come here and pretend you helped save the world?!” Hakon said disgustedly. 

Ypsilon opened their eyes sharply. “SHUT UP!” they yelled, no more. No more! “Pretend? _Pretend_!? He _did_ just help slay Alduin, he did just give me the power to win this fight. _Who cares_? I don’t! I really don’t! I know we just won, and that I understand. The World-Eater is gone! And it was no thanks to you! You Nord warriors love to be about honor and cry when people say you have none! And yet you guys are not honoring the fact that people can easily change, and people _MOST DEFINITELY_ change when they literally help slay what they originally refused to!” They felt their words were coherent, their mind frantic. Either out of refusal for Miraak’s badness, or also out of the fact that they couldn’t of done this without him.  

The three warriors looked startled, and Miraak’s hands gripped their shoulder tightly, before vanishing entirely from them. They glared at the other three, who were surrounding the other two, and then they looked up at Miraak, who stood behind and above them. Their gaze softened, and they felt their soul flow through his own, and they detected nothing that was malicious. Whatever his current reasons were, they weren’t going to hurt anyone. There was no way they could convey it to these three. They felt their two souls wrap around each other and then butt heads, but Ypsilon shook themselves, embarrassed, and Miraak shifted back away from them completely, taking on his ethereal form, becoming completely spectral and transparent, before he vanished from sight and lurked away. The three heroes did not react, or they didn’t care to. 

They sheathed their weapons with defeat in their postures, and Ypsilon got to their feet, exhaustion running through their body. They sheathed their magic sword, dispelling it from existence, and the three came up closer to them. “I pray that we can trust your judgement, Dragonborn.” Felldir said, his eyes looking the Dragonborn all over. 

“You can and you will have to…” Ypsilon murmured, stretching their arms and back. “And if I’m wrong and you’re correct- that he will do something in the future, you’ll have to trust I’ll set things right.” 

They looked up towards the heavens and watched as the heavy clouds moved along, and then something cold fell in between the gaps of their armor and melted.  

Snow, the clouds were finally releasing a light snow. All three of them went quiet, as did Ypsilon and they watched as the snow began to fall, intricate snowflakes dancing upon the cool breeze. The snow landed on the grass and destroyed ground, lightly coating it, but the majority of it melting on contact. 

“Now is not the time for conflict.” Gormlaith said, her voice triumphant. “There may be troubles on the horizon, but Alduin, the World Eater has been slain!”  

Hakon gave a grin, pushing the blond hair from his dirty face. “Sovngarde will sing of this triumph forever!” 

Felldir too, gave a tired grin, and Ypsilon held up their hands, cupping it as the snow fell. It had a soft lavender tone too it, much like the magicka-infused clouds. They smiled from behind their mask, and they watched as Tsun approached, walking from where he was guarding. Ypsilon felt relief flood into them. It was over, the Dragon Threat was over. Everything was fine… Somewhere in them knew there was still much hardship in the future, it’s how life would be, but for now, they could rest and feel triumph. They felt exhausted, and going with the flow as Dragonborn was far from easy, definitely. The drum beats emitting from the Hall of Valor began to get louder, and it sounded as if the people were partying and merry. The wings of their Dragon Aspect evaporated, the armor vanishing, and they brushed themselves off. 

“Dragonborn, all of us in Sovngarde, we thank you.” Tsun said, giving them a light smile, the other three echoed their thanks, their voices chiming along with the sound of the drums. 

Ypsilon bowed their head slightly, unsure of what to say. “It’s my job.” they said, trying to be humble along with trying to seem self assured. “But, how will I get home…?”  

Tsun gave an amused smile, before giving a loud laugh. “I can send you home to save you the trek back through Skuldafn.” he told them, but not before crossing his arms and bowing to them. “We are in your debt. Here, a final gift.” 

Gormlaith, Felldir, and Hakon began to glow with the orangey blue light that was all so familiar. The flow of a shout moved from all three of the Heroes, to Tsun, where it flowed around him a bit, before flowing into Ypsilon. Three new words of power, a new shout entered their mind, their soul wrapping around these words.  

“Call upon us if you need, one of us will assist you in battle if you will it.” Felldir said, bowing his head respectfully. 

“It will be thrilling to fight again on Nirn!” Gormlaith says, her smile was wide and toothy, and she looked ready for battle right there and then. 

“Call as frequently as you’d like, Dragonborn.” Hakon added. “We are always ready for a good fight.” 

Ypsilon didn’t think there was much fighting on Sovngarde, so they understood how a bunch of hot-blooded Nords were upset with the lack of it. “Thank you all.” they said, bowing their head, mirroring Felldir. “I’ll use this shout wisely.” 

Tsun nodded as well. “Are you ready to return to the mortal world?” Tsun asked, and Ypsilon looked around for a moment, wondering where Miraak had gone off to. He’d be able to get back, they hoped, probably had to go through Skuldafn, but… They honestly didn’t understand how he got there in the first place, Skuldafn was only accessible by Dov… 

Their mind flashed with the image of the Dragon Aspect shout and they realized he’d probably flown up there, but it still confused them to no end. They shook themselves, looking back towards Tsun. “Yes, I’m ready!” they said.

“Farewell, Dragonborn and thank you!”  

Their voices sounded so distance as a white flash overtook Ypsilon’s sight, and they shut their eyes tight. It felt as if the whole world has vanish and they were in free fall. They felt a plummeting feeling in their stomach, and then absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do enjoy the theory that Miraak was going to allow the world to get re-created and put himself in charge. (Need to find a link to it.) It's also interesting to explore the reasoning behind him doing that since he hated the Dragon Cult and it consumed most of his life. I like to explore his relationship and thoughts on Akatosh, too. Probably will be more on that later...?
> 
> Translations:  
> “Deyra” = Daedra  
> "Hi sahlag, pahlokaal ahvakaar!" = You pitiful, arrogant abomination!  
> “Zent nid vuld!” = Expect no change!  
> “Funt paal” = Fail/failed enemy/adversary; an insult  
> “DROG DO DOVAH, ALDUIN!” = Lord of Dragons, Alduin!


	14. Safe At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the Dragon Grampa. He's the best ;n; I'd die for him. Also all the dragons are based off modded dragons, specifically the Diverse Dragons mod, which is hella good. I love bright and colorful dragons, as well as them being different elements, etc.
> 
> But anyways, huzzah! Alduin vanquished, everything good and safe, maybe things can go back to normal. At least as normal as two Dragonborns of two different exctinct ancient races can be. Or as normal as things can get if Hermaeus Mora is still trying to get at Miraak. 
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the bottom!

Ypsilon awoke with a start, the freezing temperatures calming them significantly, the original panic they were feeling going away. As they lifted their head up to survey their surroundings, freshly fallen snow fell from their shoulders and around their neck. They weren’t sure how long they had been laying there, and they felt no snow falling. There was a strange calm over the area and they noticed the rise of a large carved stone wall, and they realized they were at the Throat of the World, the highest peak in Skyrim. Perched atop the stone wall was Paarthurnax, his head bowed as he breathed.

It was a calming noise, and Ypsilon relaxed for a moment, they were exhausted, and they looked to Paarthurnax, whos gentle eyes glanced at them. His golden eyes glittered, and they stood to go towards him to speak. At that moment, Paarthurnax rose his head towards the higher cliffs in his mountain. Ypsilon followed his gaze, and their eyes widened with surprise. About 10 dragons, all with notably different appearances, but they all carried one similarity. Their wings were curled around themselves, their heads bowed. However, the angle gave them perfect vision of their faces, and Ypsilon could see their glowing eyes peering at them. They stepped back a bit, moving closer to Paarthurnax for safety.

“ _Alduin mahlaan_!” the world reverberated and trembled as almost all of them spoke. Ypsilon was able to notice Alduin’s name within the unknown language, but they felt unthreatened, these dragons were not poised to attack.

The wind blew harshly and a blue and black one flared its wings, the wind welcoming it into the sky. With fantastic power, it began circling high above the peak. _“Sahrot thur qahnaraan?_ ” one of the dragons nestled on the peak boomed, its voice sounding like it was confused more than angry. It’s long green neck twisted as it looked at the others, amber eyes glaring at them all, Ypsilon and Paarthurnax included.

“ _Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid_.” answered an Azure Dragon, who spread its shimmery blue wings and joined the other one circling the peak, breathing light blue fire at it. It was nothing too heavy, but the other dragon that was circling breathed out purple electricity, zapping the clouds around the two.

Ypsilon watched with curiosity, were they just having a good time? The two were leisurely moving around, this was no dragon sky fight. Their focus on the two wheeling around was quickly taken by the dragon who had asked the question taking flight, it’s wingbeats almost drowning out the voice of large, silver dragon, with the most intricate curled horns Ypsilon had ever seen.

“ _Thu'umii los nahlot_!” it boomed, it’s mouth glowing blue, but this didn’t seem to be a shout. Ypsilon recognized it as the rare Lunar Dragon, a dragon that was said to only appear during certain moon cycles, and even then, they had never seen it.

Another dragon, this one a splotchy mix of reds and dark purples repeated the words of the previous dragon, it’s voice more triumphant than terrifying. “ _Thu'umii los nahlot_!” it shouted, and took to the skies, joining the previous two.

Ypsilon watched as it spewed dark black smog that was quickly blown away with the wind, but not before it added to the bright colors currently pigmenting the sky. They watched as the dragons wheeled around, and Ypsilon wondered if everyone in Whiterun could see this, it was at the base of this mountain, too, so there was no doubt someone was watching the sky light up with many different hues. They turned to Paarthurnax, who looked upon them kindly, as if he was gauging their reaction.

“ _MU LOS VOMIR_!” It seemed all the dragons on and above the mountain, except for one with the dark purple and blue hide, with eyes like stars were shouting. Their words were strong, and it reverberated and crackled, the world shaking again, the force of their words causing them to stumble back on tired legs. They would’ve fallen on their butt, if not for Paarthurnax holding the tip of his tail against their back to steady them. They once again wished they could understand Dovahzul, and they realized at this point they were going to have to dedicate their lives to understanding it, even if it killed them.

Ypsilon was wowed by what was going on, and even further impressed that they felt absolutely welcome in this place. The booming of the shouts, the reverberation of the wing beats, and the triumphant tones of their voices was enough to make them feel happy. In a way they felt relief, they were definitely a dragon. Definitely a Dragonborn too...

The leftover dragons on the mountain all took off, their wingbeats causing loose gravel, rock, dirt, and snow to fall from the jagged peaks, and they displaced the air with their shouts. Lightning, fire, smoke, or ice all came from their mouths as they breathed it upon the clouds, the world was lighting up technicolor, just like how it was in Sovngarde. They expertly dodged each others shouts, weaving the many kinds of breath together, and Ypsilon watched in awe. In their body, they felt energy surge as if urging them to shout as well.

Paarthurnax looked to them his gold eyes clear, and he lifted his neck and his posture changed, as if renewed with a new energy. “Dovahkiin, Alduin is no more, you have done it.” he growled, and Ypsilon felt themselves get a bit nervous. “While I mourn the death of my _zeymah,_ his control of time had to be relinquished. Like you said, the new world will have to take care of itself.”

Ypsilon nodded warmly at Paarthurnax, happy for his recognition. “I couldn’t of done it without your guidance, Paarthurnax. You helped me keep the world safe.” they responded, trying to make sure he got credit where it was due. “Thank you.”

Paarthurnax spread his wings and took to the wind, the wind pushing Ypsilon to the ground, their body too tired to actually hold themselves up. They fell into the snow, and watched as he circled above, joining the other dragons and breathing his own golden flames into their web of breath. Ypsilon watched in awe, as his own fire joined theirs in the clouds, the sky lit up brightly. The colors dispersed into the clouds, the colors pulsating throughout them, shimmering as the sky once again became its regular grey cloudy self. Part of them wished that they could fly with them, and they were tempted to test their Dragon Aspect wings, but their lack of energy said otherwise.

They stumbled back to their feet, moving towards the edge of the rocky cliff, looking down towards Whiterun in the far distance, their eyes marvelling on how tiny the world seemed from where they stood. They watched as the 10 dragons began circling around, a few dispersing and flying their separate ways. Paarthurnax came to hover at the edge of the cliff in front of them, he was distant enough to allow them to keep standing, and they felt their pride swell as he looked upon them.

“It is you I should be thanking.” Paarthurnax said, his calm voice rolling off his tongue, and it was as if they felt his words within their soul itself. “I’m sure there will be some stragglers, some dragons who are unsure of their Way. I will do what is in my power to lead them, to guide them forth in their time of need.”

“Good luck, Paarthurnax!” Ypsilon called to him. “Good luck! You’ll be a great leader I’m sure!”

Paarthurnax blew a small blast of golden flame at them, and the flames harmlessly flowed over them, the warmth was the only thing that slightly overwhelmed them. They understood this as some sort of greeting or farewell, or some kind of friendly gesture. His expression became even more gentle, but his eyes glimmered with triumph and life.

“It’s been many moons since I’ve felt this young.” he said, and Ypsilon smiled from behind their mask. “I must fly to pay my respects, however, I will remain on this mountaintop in the future if time allows it. Visit and meditate with me in the future, _dovahkiin_.”

“Of course! Fly safely! I’ll see you later, Paarthurnax!” They said, but felt slightly guilty now, aware that he was probably going to pay his respects to his fallen brother. But, Paarthurnax seemed to not be hindered by their deed, and they knew that Paarthurnax was a level-headed and trustable dragon. He had never been against them, even if he knew what they were destined to do.

Paarthurnax wheeled away, heading off towards the east, most likely to Skuldafn, it seemed. He slowly vanished from sight, his golden glow and grey hide slowly fading amongst the heavy, stormy clouds. They heard him roar loudly in farewell, and then he was gone. Ypsilon’s exhaustion was beginning to catch up with them, and they felt their knees start to grow weak. They stumbled away from the edge, and kneeled in snowy clearing between the higher peaks and where Paarthurnax stayed. They breathed out heavily, their hands falling to their legs, and as one of their fingers brushed their leg, they felt searing pain. They looked towards where they had their hands, it was the spot where they had gotten burned. They thought they had been completely healed… In Sovngarde it wasn’t a problem. Perhaps it was because they took on a different form to enter Sovngarde? Who knew. Their stomach hurt, and they felt exhaustion in their bones and muscles, and they knew they should probably rest. It was far too cold up here and most likely not safe, but they looked towards the word wall and pondered whether or not they could sleep there. It would break the wind a bit, and they could easily pitch parts of the tent to shield them a little bit. Perhaps even Paarthurnax could fly them down safely upon his return.

Their thoughts were instantly cut of by a woosh of air and the heavy sound of a dragon landing behind them. They felt fear fill them and they whirled around, their eyes falling upon piercing silver eyes bordered by shining purple scales. Odahviing… He looked upon them, his head low to the ground, looking non-threatening. They felt the fear ebb away and Odahviing’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“ _Drem yol lok_ , greetings, _Dovahkiin_.” he said, his spiked tail lifted upwards, they could see it wiggling from behind him, as if it was waving in greeting.

“Hello Odahviing!” they said, clasping their hands together, getting to their feet. While he had been friendly, they weren’t about to show vulnerability to him. “I’m guessing you saw Alduin…?” they didn’t want to say ‘die’ or ‘be killed’. Honestly, they felt extreme guilt for killing him, and they couldn’t place it.

“Not saw, I could not see it.” he said, his eyes surveying the area. “All _dov_ felt _thur…”_ He trailed off for a moment, and Ypsilon caught a flash of uncertainty in his eyes as he mulled over his words. He wasn’t quite used to common it seemed. “ _Dov_ felt a weight lift off of them. _Thu'umii los nahlot,_ Alduin’s voice has been silenced, yours triumphed over his.”

“How were you able to tell? Other than a feeling, I mean?” Ypsilon asked, curiously.

Odahviing seemed to think a bit, trying to figure out how to explain something. “The sky opened up and turned red, glowing. Explosive. I believed it to be the end of times, that you had lost. It didn’t surprise me, I have been prepared for the end of times. _Faas nu, dovahkiin,_ it shortly returned to normal at Alduin’s passing. Mundus shook with the force of you _thu’um_ and it became clear to all who the victor was. To _joor_ and _dov_ alike.”

“Wow… So everyone’s okay? Nothing actually exploded?” Ypsilon breathed, impressed, and their legs become jelly again, but they tried to remain standing as best as they could. “Odahviing, what are you planning to do?” their voice became less breathy and more questioning.

“Not that I am aware of. However I would not doubt casualties during such an event.” He seemed unsure of himself, and Ypsilon understood, he didn’t watch over people or something.

“And now that I am free?” he said, his eyes looking at them, peering through them. “I will fly my own path. Many _dovah_ will be hesitant to change from Alduin’s _lordship_ to Paarthurnax’s _tyranny_.” his eyes glimmered with laughter, as if this was an incredibly good joke, Ypsilon found it funny that he was probably right.

Alduin being an unjust leader would likely leave a massive imprint on the dragons minds as they chose a path.“Although, I choose my own path, and I will come to you if you call. You have proved your leadership to me, and I shall honor it. Call upon me when you are in need of a second pair of wings. Assisting you will certainly keep me busy.”

Ypsilon was literally so happy by his words. “Thank you Odahviing! I’m sure coming around will also keep you out of trouble?” they laughed, and Odahviing huffed repeatedly, heavily.

Dragon laughter, they thought, and he began to speak again. “I assure you the trouble I will cause will cause no harm. Have no fear, I don’t care to prey on people, but their livestock is a different story.” Odahviing gave them another look, his head raising as he looked around, surveying the cliffs. “Farewell _dovahkiin_. May the wind carry you through your travels.”

“Just be sure not to steal someone’s prize cow, or a giant’s prize cow.” Ypsilon rolled their eyes. “You just love to rub in my face that you have wings and can fly always.” they said, their voice fakely upset. “Have a good flight, think of me when you are in the clouds.”

“Perhaps a farmers’ cow, I would rather not fight tooth and claw with a giant. Although picking up a giant and dropping it makes for a fun battle.” he said, his wings stretching lightly, preparing to take-off. “I will admit it’s interesting to meet a _dovah_ with no wings.”

Oh, he just loved rubbing in their face that he was gifted with wings and they were not. They couldn’t wait to see the look on his face if they ever fought together, and Ypsilon could brandish their newly found ethereal wings. He flared his bright purple wings, the undersides a dark blue, with silver spots that were like stars, and he lifted off, wheeling around dramatically. He too let out a few roars of farewell, before disappearing from view.

A harsh, cold wind blew through Ypsilon’s clothing and they shivered slightly, falling to their knees. While the rest of them wasn't in much pain, their leg certainly was. Their exhaustion felt somewhat unbearable now, and they needed to get down from the peak, before they were frozen alive again. They fumbled with their bag, setting it down in the snow, opening it up. They rooted around, trying to find something they could use to help them get down with ease. They didn’t pack much this time, only a few potions, some food, and more arrows in case they ran out. Their fingers wrapped around a smooth bit of wood, and they tugged it free from the confines of their bag. They felt relief that they'd brought a staff with them.

The trek down the long, winding cliffs and ledges of the Throat of the World, fearing that the very wind would knock them off it. They were planning to get to High Hrothgar as soon as possible, the stone temple was a little bit further down, and they could see it. It still loomed over the rest of the world, and Ypsilon knew that once they got there, they’d be tasked with walking down the Seven Thousand Steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Alduin mahlaan!” = Literally Alduin’s fall - “Alduin has fallen.”  
> “Sahrot thur qahnaraan?” = “Mighty overlord vanquished?”  
> “Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid.” = “Dragonborn is his dragonslayer.”  
> “Thu'umii los nahlot!” = Literally “shout is silenced”. The double ii is for ownership so. “Alduin’s shout is silenced!”  
> “MU LOS VOMIR!” = “Our allegiance is broken!”  
> “Zeymah” = brother


	15. Miraak’s Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *throws a dart and a spinning dartboard to see which Greybeard I should use in this part*. *spins a wheel to see what ingredients I use for a healing salve*.
> 
> Uh. Yeah. This chapter's got some stuff going on. Pretty romantic. I still always fear that my Miraak is much too soft or gentle, because I have issues with writing characters that are assholes...? I suppose I just don't want him to be a constant prick, but I guess we'll see...? I hope he's written ok.
> 
> Going in for a happy-ish ending. Almost at a wrap up.

It took them a while to realize it was late night, and by the time they had they had already returned to the High Hrothgar courtyard. They peeked over the cliffs, surveying the long drop, and their eyes caught on to Whiterun in the distance, and then the tiny town of Riverwood. Snow fell lightly, and the cold wind whistled in their ears, but they were pleased with the chilliness of it, and they turned to the large, iron building. They didn’t want the Greybeards to see their vulnerability and that they were limping, so they placed the staff within their bag. They limped forward, using the stone ledges for balance. It seemed their own limp would give them a way instead of their walking stick. The only sound they could hear when they got closer was the sound of their boots against the stone steps, and they nudged open the heavy, metal door.

Ypsilon passed through the monastery with little interruption. The cold halls and dimly lit areas were empty, and it seemed most likely that the Greybeards were currently asleep. They tip-toed along as best as they could with their limp, not wanting to wake them, wherever they were. As they rounded the corner to the entry room, they noticed one of the Greybeards kneeling in the center, resting in front of a stone slab covered with candles and various flowers found so high up in the mountains. He was meditating, and Ypsilon passed by quietly, not wanting to distract whichever one it was. 

However, their movement was clumsy, and the Greybeard blinked as they passed. Ypsilon turned and looked at him, his grey eyes glinting from behind the shadow of his hood. He gave them a light nod, and Ypsilon returned the gesture, bowing slightly. This was Master Borri, and they were relieved to see him and not Arngeir. He would be sure to ask them questions. 

Borri however, due to his lack of normal voice peered at them, his eyes falling to their hurt leg. His expression was questioning. “Oh, it’s a burn wound, nothing too big, I’ll be fine, Master Borri.” they reassured him, not wanting to bother the silent monk. 

However, he rose from his spot, raising a hand at Ypsilon to wait, and he slipped away, the candle light beginning to dance when he moved. He vanished into a nook in the nearby wall, and Ypsilon heard the sound of something falling, followed up by the scuffing of shoes on the stone floor. They shifted on their hurt leg, and they wanted to leave, to go home, and to lie down in their own bed.

Borri quietly returned, with a small blue bowl with a cover in his hands. He opened it to them, and they recognized the smell of the poultice instantly. Dragon’s Tongue, Snowberries, and Blue Mountain Flowers, these were all plants easily found on the lower areas of the mountain, and Ypsilon took the bowl into their hands, the Greybeard returning the cover back to it when they had their hands firmly on it. They realized it was a salve to put on their burn wounds, the properties of Dragon’s Tongue and Snowberries assisted with burns and the Blue Mountain Flower had healing properties. They’d definitely have to use it later.

“Oh, thank you, Master Borri.” Ypsilon said, gratefully. “I’ll be sure to bring more of these plants up whenever I come back. I hope that’s alright, I just really need to get home.” 

Master Borri stepped back, a grateful expression on his features as he gave them a silent bow. He then returned to his spot, kneeling. He bowed his head in a comfortable posture, and returned to meditating. Ypsilon was thankful that Borri hadn’t pressed them for more information or requested they get more ingredients sooner, but it’s not like he could. They limped past him, exiting the front doors of High Hrothgar. 

It was cold, and the force of the wind made it hard to push the door open all the way, their muscles were tired. They were able to open it wide enough for themselves to slip out, and as soon as they did, the metal door shut with a loud slam. They leaned against the stone wall for a moment, pulling their pack off and tugging the staff out again. Once out, they hunched over on it, their left hand gripping it so tightly that their knuckles went white. They began to move, getting down the staircase and to the ground was one thing, and they were still so high up. They lurched forward, the pain in their burnt leg getting worse as they went, as if the skin was cracking more.  

Through gritted teeth, they breathed heavily, and they successfully got down the steps that led to the door. They gazed ahead, the trek down the mountain, down the Seven Thousand Steps was going to be rough. They limped ahead, finding their footing easier in the snow, it cushioned their weight and sent a nice chill through their body. They found a decent pace and settled on it, keeping close to the icy cliffs that rose over them, careful to never go to close to the edge. They did not want to tumble from these heights, nor would they survive that fall.  

They kept close to the rock, turning the corner, and their eyes fell upon movement farther ahead of them. Their stomach clenched, but then they remembered that there were a couple pilgrims who made the journey up to High Hrothgar to leave supplies for the Greybeards, or to meditate outside the various shrines littered along the steps. If the person approaching them proved to be hostile, though, they were prepared to shout them right off the cliff. They hated dirty tricks like that, but it certainly wasn’t a fair fight already with the condition they were in.  

They continued their pace, when they noticed the figure dead ahead was wearing a dark purple garb, accompanied by golden trim, and they felt their heart beat faster. Adrenaline pumped into their veins as he approached them, and they froze. Miraak. They felt a feeling of distress in their gut, mixed with gratefulness from earlier, and also confused on why he’d run away in the first place. A bit of betrayal, too. He came in closer, and their nerves sprung into overdrive, they really, really did not want him to see them in this state. Or clutching a stick and limping all over. But before they could make a move to do something, he was right at them, his posture calm, non-threatening.  

Their voice was caught in their throat, they had so much to say, and their brain wasn’t making sense of any of it. They wanted to ask him why’d he leave, where’d he been, how he was, what had he done? What were his plans…? They opened their mouth to speak, but they were surprisingly (and luckily) interrupted by his own metallic voice. 

“Dovahkiin.” he breathed, his voice low, he seemed… unsure? “... You are unwell.” 

They blinked and felt embarrassment crawl into them, and they wished that he didn’t see them in their weakest state, their body hunched over. 

“I got hit with some fire from that dragon at Skuldafn.” they said, trying to keep their voice low. They wanted to pass by him, and go home. “You know, the one whose soul you took?” 

They lurched forward going to move past him, and he stood his ground, not trying to follow after them. They heard his voice, it was soft, they could barely hear it over the sound of the wind whistling. “I’m sorry.” he practically whispered.

They gulped. His voice was incredibly genuine. They turned to face him, not to lose their footing. His focus was unreadable, but he seemed to be watching them like a hawk. “Can you tell me why?” they asked, their voice coming out hoarsely. “Why you did everything…?” 

“I…” he began to speak, but his shoulder slumped slightly, defeated. “That dragon shouldn’t of been there. It was a mistake on my part.”

What did he mean…? “Miraak, I don’t understand.” they echoed, watching every micromovement he made, every bit of body language. He seemed nervous, anxious almost. Well, honestly, so were they.

 "I hadn’t realized that the statue was a dragon. My failed attempt at clearing a path for you has cost you greatly.” he said, gesturing to their hurt leg.  

Clearing a path? Their thoughts were bewildered, their mind muddled and confused. “So it was you who killed those three dragons? The ones at Skuldafn? I thought it had been the Dragon Priest? Er- the other one...? Not you. The lich.” they asked him, their voice clearing up slightly. “And some of the draugr too?” 

Miraak nodded, but he did not speak. So he had flown up to Skuldafn ahead of time, they thought. He had slain the dragons, the draugr… that must meant that the ethereal form of him must’ve just been him. They swore it was more warmer, more alive than a illusion. Good to know their hunch had been correct. The fact that he’d done that shocked them. 

“Then why? Why do that? You ran off when we were in Windhelm, and then you reappear near Whiterun.” they questioned him. “And I thought you had gone rogue, my friends all had to worry about a rogue Dragonborn. Why did you appear to slay a dragon? Was it to gain more power or…?” Their mind drifted to the things that the old Heroes had said in Sovngarde.  

“Was it to fulfill parts of that plot they mentioned? Are you using me like they said?” they asked, their voice growing more and more upset. “Am I wrong from trusting you…?” _Am I wrong from trusting you again?_ Their mind echoed, and they felt worry in their gut. 

Miraak was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t take it.” he said, and that was all.

 _“_ Take what?” they asked. 

“The intimacy. The sudden trust you put into me!” he muttered, his voice quivered slightly, but the metallic reverb threw them off a bit. “I had just been torn from Apocrypha by your hand, I was your adversary, your _enemy!_ And yet, you trusted me enough to sleep beside me, to buy me food and drink and to-” He cut himself up abruptly, he huffed. 

“To what?!”

“...To be completely and utterly kind while I spat nothing but insults and kept quiet the entire time.” The guilt that filled his voice was unmistakable, and Ypsilon felt themselves get a bit choked up, their knuckles turning white from their stressed out grip on the staff.

“You did nothing to bring harm to me, even going as far as giving me clothing to protect my identity and yet…” he crossed his arms, his gloves digging into his arms. “I was fully ready to leave and continue upon my original plans.” 

“So you were going to keep going down the same path as originally?” they asked, anxiety flooding them. They were in no condition to fight more, and they didn’t even know his plans for The Divine’s sake! 

“I was.” he said, and then silence hung between the two like a heavy fog. The only sounds were Ypsilon’s ragged breath, and the light huffs coming from Miraak, the metal of his mask causing it to echo slightly. 

Ypsilon let out a deep breath, and they felt their knees begin to give out, their body twitching and shuddering as exhaustion flowed through them. Miraak’s posture perked up slightly and he looked as if he was going to make a move towards them. Why wasn’t he just leaving? They were embarrassed by their current condition and so so very tired… 

“Tell me about those plans.” Ypsilon said, their voice quivering, and they watched as Miraak’s posture stiffened again, the movement towards them forgotten. “I want to hear you say them, not those Undead Nord’s version of it, please.” 

He huffed for a second, it looked like he was sizing them up, his gaze falling to their leg. He absentmindedly rubbed at his arm, wincing as he did so, his hand falling away from it instantly. Ypsilon’s eyes homed in on the spot, and they noticed that his robes were more ragged over it, parts of the fabric and trim hanging, frayed.  

“They were in creation far before I entered Apocrypha.” he began, his voice becoming solemn. “It’s words set in place, like the very stone I had them carved into…” 

Ypsilon tried to understand, but they thought they realized what he meant. His mantra, the one that everyone had been repeating while working on building his shrines. As if he could understand what they were thinking, he began to say the mantra.

“ _Here in my shrine, that you have forgotten. Here do you toil, that you might remember. By night you reclaim, what by day was stolen. Far from yourselves, I grow ever near to you. Your eyes were once blinded, now through me do you see. Your hands were once idle, now through them do I speak. And when the world shall listen and when the world shall see. And when the world remembers…”_

 _  
_ “...That world shall cease to be…” Ypsilon finished it off for him, and he gave a light nod of approval. “I don’t think I understand the mantra completely. But, you wanted to recreate the world…?” 

He gave a short nod. “Alduin existing hastened the outcome, if Alduin were to destroy it, I could reclaim it. But I was defeated in battle by Vahlok, and Hermaeus Mora came to my aid, taking me into Apocrypha. Then those _idiots_ believed to slay Alduin but instead they sent him forward in time.” he explained, and Ypsilon scowled behind their mask, aware that those idiots were the three Nord Heroes. “Hermaeus Mora destroyed my original structures around the All-Maker Stones, urging me to hold on until a later date.” 

“He wanted you to wait?” Ypsilon asked, bewildered, it was strange that Mora would even let him later on. 

“Yes, perhaps until you, the Last Dragonborn were to arrive.” he answered. “I can’t be sure, he is fickle and confusing, his intentions are incomprehensible. Perhaps he was expecting you to kill me, so that I could never finish.” 

Ypsilon nodded. “That would make the most sense.” they agreed with all of his statement, and they gulped. “The All-Maker, the original owner of those stones? That’s the Skaal word for ‘Akatosh’ or something right? So you _did_ want to take Akatosh’s place?” 

“Indeed. That was the original plan.” he said, and he gripped at his own wrists, he seemed to be getting agitated.

So were they, but they weren’t showing it. They were itching to sit down, their legs hurt. They still weren’t understanding this at all. They sighed, and began speaking to him again.

“Why? Why would you try to create a new world to be the main deity of? I know Akatosh is a dragon, and by extension, so are we, but I don’t quite grasp it. For power? Control?” they asked, their voice still a bit hoarse, it was beginning to crack. 

He shook his head, gripping at the front of his mask, before looking to them. “The world was eaten by strife. The dragons owned everything and destroyed everything that wasn’t theirs. I rebelled against them, and thus by my Draconic nature, I wanted to be above them, to be more powerful. To remove their bindings on mankind. I valued people’s lives over the dragons, not realizing that I was just adding to impending doom… and I hate Akatosh more than anything else, for it is his fault for all this destruction. My plans… were birthed out of my own anger and fear directed towards the Dragon Cult.” 

“But by becoming Akatosh?” their voice sounded slightly irritated. “Usurping a dragon-gods place doesn’t change anything, you’ve just destroyed a whole world! Or at least, sit around and allow it to happen.” Their voice became lighter and much gentler. “I know that you were scared and angry and… well the Dragon Cult had a pretty firm grip on life back then. But times change. Alduin is gone. When he will resurface no one knows, but there is a lot to this world. There’s a lot you still have to see and experience. It’s all very new to you, I’m sure.”

Miraak huffed and his words came out in a snarl, ignoring the majority of their words, his adamant traits showing. “I wanted to create a world where the time flows correctly, where dragons do not prey upon the weak, destroying every single person in their path, one where-”  

He was cut off by Ypsilon’s indignant voice. “And you want to be just like him!” they said, the strength in their voice growing. “You want to allow the world to end! You sat and did nothing when it was requested of you to help. You were the only one who could do it!”  

He went silent and they just shook their head. “Not taking action and waiting for it to happen so you could swoop in is just as bad as doing it yourself. You hate him so much, and yet, in a way you’re wanting to be just like him.” They hissed, taking a moment to bow their head, it felt too heavy. 

Silence, again. And then, his ever so soft voice hit their ears. “... not anymore…” he murmured. “I don’t need those plans anymore.”

Ypsilon didn’t have the energy to look up at him. “What, because they failed?” they said, gritting their teeth. 

“They are to remain lost in history, just like everything else I’ve ever done.” he confirmed, and Ypsilon shook their head. His words stung them.

Hush, hush, please…They didn’t like where this was going, and the extreme sympathy in their gut flared up. Or was it empathy? They too had their own ideas, their own plans that were certainly… not for the good of everyone. Though, it was not as big as this! Becoming a god was far different from anything they had considered! Their mind thought back to their times when they were dealing with the Atmorans, when the war had begun, and when they watched as their people slowly vanished from the surface world. They had to push these thoughts away, before the anger and grief consumed them. 

Miraak was what Ypsilon had viewed as the antagonist, an adversary, their enemy! And when they found common ground against Mora, they were relieved, they were more than happy to fight beside him. When they fought together against Alduin, he had saved the battle, placing himself directly in front of them to shield them with his body. He gave them five dragon souls, likely from the one north of Whiterun, the three he’d slain at Skuldafn, and then the one he’d taken from them. _He’d helped them._ Just as they’d helped him! He’d revived them upon what they’d thought to be their deathbed, just as they’d grabbed him before he’d died at the hands- er… tentacles of Mora. They’d be lying if they said they didn’t feel like the two had a connection, and they’d be lying even further if they were to say they wouldn’t protect him with their life, just as he had done. 

“Miraak, I…” Ypsilon began, but they were hushed by their knees giving out, their body hit the snow, causing it to poof outwards, and their hands gripped onto the staff, trying to hoist themselves back up. Their eyes shut tight, the pain all too much. 

Miraak came in closer and he kneeled in front of them. His hands came towards them, hesitantly, before stopping just a few inches away. They heard him breathing from behind his mask, and then they heard him speak. “Am I allowed to touch you…?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, and they gave him a light nod, eyes still shut tight. 

His hands found their sides, just under their arms and he hoisted them back to their feet. Their eyes flashed open, and they felt anxiety pour into them when they realized how close he was. They felt his hands go to their legs and they winced at the touch on their wounded one. They realized that he was about to pick them up and they shook their head, clenching onto his robes with their hand that wasn’t clenched around the staff.  

“No, no! I can stand, I just... “ they clenched their jaw as he let go of their legs, his arms falling underneath theirs, wrapping around their back. “Like that, yeah…”  

They relaxed visually as he supported them, and they leaned their weight on him, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck to hold on. With their free hand, they quickly placed the staff into their bag, wiggling slightly in his grip to achieve this.

“Thank you, Miraak, again, thank you.” they murmured, feeling somewhat bad for having him helping them so much. “Really, thank you…” 

He gave them a nod. “This is me doing as you’ve done for me.” he said, his voice low, he seemed uncomfortable with making himself this vulnerable, but he seemed to be taking things slow.

Ypsilon blushed at his words, grateful for their mask hiding this. “No, I’ve only helped you regarding Apocrypha… You helped me a lot more than you’re crediting yourself with.”

He shook his head, then scratched the back of his neck. Ypsilon tilted their head in confusion, and Miraak began to move forward, carefully guiding them along, trying to make sure they put the least bit of weight on their leg. His voice was quiet, and they were grateful for him keeping his voice down, their head hurt from the noise. In a way, the quietness of it was calming to them. 

“You are another reason I do not want this world to end.” he murmured. “You spent more time than I’ve realized to preserve this world.” 

“It’s my job, though, as the Last Dragonborn.” they admitted, still kind of unsure about their place in the world without their title. Even then, they felt wildly out of place with it. “I’m not really meant for anything else, I just did my job, and that was that.” 

“That is where you are giving yourself too little credit, dovahkiin.” he told them, and they didn’t ever doubt how genuine his words. “ _Dez sahlo aak,_ destiny is a weak guide, and you did it upon your own accord. You may be unaware of your reasons, but you didn’t do it to follow some fate set out for you.” 

They felt their foot caught on something and they winced, letting out a light breath. They felt him tighten his grip on them slightly. “You freed me from my binds in Apocrypha, granted me time spent in this world, granted me time with you. Even as I had left, I had pondered this.” he continued, his voice straining slightly as he assisted them over a rock. “For that I am grateful, and I swore to myself that I would protect you from any harm that were to come your way.” 

Ypsilon felt their cheeks turn warm, and they felt butterflies in their stomach at his words. “Miraak, I can protect myself pretty well, you don’t have to do that.” they urged him, their voice gently. “But thank you, really…”

They continued moving ahead, Ypsilon glad that the pace was picking up slightly, and they were so grateful for his support. “It may be so that you can protect yourself, but alas, two dovahkiin are better than one.”

“That’s true…” they agreed, trailing off lightly. “In all honesty, I do enjoy fighting beside you. Believe it or not, I missed having you around.”

He remained quiet, his grip on them comfortable to them. It was fair, honestly. He’d run away from the intimacy earlier, and they weren’t sure if he’d do it again, if he was even going to stay with them. Even then, they too were really anxious over such closeness, and the interactions they’d had while around Windhelm had made them boil from the inside. It wasn’t unpleasant, just territory that made them nervous, it would be better to go slow and acclimate to it. As much as they wanted to say something big, a certain statement of love and affection, they were going to hold off. 

He nodded and they were grateful for his presence. “ Er… Miraak, I’ll say, I’m glad to see you again, really.” they began, keeping their voice low. “But, I was wondering, are you planning to stay or…? Help from afar.” _Or in backhanded ways like in Skuldafn,_ they thought. 

“I plan to stay.” he said, his voice echoing in their ears. “Er… If you’d allow me.” 

Ypsilon nodded, and they felt their heart hammering in their chest as they spoke. “I’d love for you to stay.” 

“I’ll stay then.” he confirmed, and Ypsilon felt extremely giddy from the inside, but a bit of anxiety lingered. 

He must’ve felt it, via the fact that they were shaking slightly, or that maybe he sensed it from within their soul itself. “I will have to prove I am worthy of your trust, yes?” he asked, his voice was tinged with worry. 

“Yeah, you need to.” they answered, their eyes closing slightly. They felt so heavy, it was awful.

“Then I will.” he responded. “Although, first we need to get down this accursed mountain and out of the cold.” 

“I need to go home to Whiterun...” They felt a twinge of embarrassment. “... Miraak you’re too kind to me…”

“I will get you there.” His free hand gave their hip a slight affection pat. “And it is you who is too kind.”

They were nearing another bunch of steps, and Ypsilon tried to move a bit faster, impatient for getting home. Their ankle slipped a bit, and almost twisted, if it weren’t for Miraak who had quickly hoisted them up a bit higher, keeping them off their feet for a moment, before lowering them back down.  

Ypsilon’s world felt like it was spinning. The pain, all the emotions, and everything else was overwhelming them. For once it felt like the cold was stinging at them, and they lurched forward, trying to keep moving.

“Miraak…?” their voice sounded quiet, and unsure.

“Yes, _diinpeyti_?” his voice is equally as quiet, and they wondered what he had just called them.  

Gods they wished they knew Dovahzul, what did he just say? “Well… if it helps any, do you think you could carry me? It’ll be easier.” 

Miraak’s voice became confident, somewhat smug. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Ypsilon huffed embarassedly, but they were also relieved he couldn’t see the happy smile on their face from behind their mask. 

They slipped their backpack off their back, and he was quick to put it on his back. He was careful with their hurt leg, and gingerly picked them up, one arm supporting their back while the other locked their legs into his grip. They twisted slightly, burying their face against his robes. They were so tired, and their mind began to drift. They imagined curlimg up on their bed with him in Breezehome, and their mind drifted to Lydia. Oh, how they hoped she was doing okay. Their mind was empty of thoughts for a moment before they shook themselves a bit, realizing something. 

“We can’t go to Whiterun yet!” they yelped, jolting, and he was caught off guard. 

“What!? Why?” he asked, relieved when they relaxed and slumped back into his arms.

“My friends were on high alert because of you.” they drawled, unable to keep their eyes open. 

“Mhm...“ he sounded like he was about to go deep in thought, and Ypsilon began to doze off again, this time actually managing to fall asleep. 

“We may set up a tent or go into an inn at the base of the mountain, correct, dovahkiin?” he asked, and his words fell on deaf ears, as Ypsilon slept, their armored chest rising and falling ever so slightly.  

“Dovahkiin?” he echoed, and then he realized that they were truly asleep.  

“Ah, rest well, I will be sure to wake you in time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> diinpeyti = just another petname I made up. Means 'my ice flower' :3c


	16. Returning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit hard to juggle due to all the characters and managing their personalities and voices! So I do apologize for any short or bizarre dialogue, or any clunky pacing.
> 
> I think the idea of Miraak getting positive attention on an equal level is much different than he's used to. These people aren't worshipping the ground he walks on, so he's a bit lost, if not uncertain about how to feel and react. He's going to probably take some time to acclimate to it.
> 
> Anyways, Ypsilon's trying to make him feel welcome. They want him too to bask in the glory :o

Birds twittered and chirped, bouncing from branch to branch of the trees, their wings fluttering. The sky was a bit lighter, the sun coming up over the horizon, and the light filtered through the branches. It was cold out, it was still very much winter, and the forested area at the base of the mountain was dry and white, with curving and sprawling branches. The leaves of the trees were scarce, some were still on the tree, hanging on for dear life.

Miraak sat with his back towards the opening of the tent, legs folded comfortably as he hunched inwards. He was back into the mage’s robes that Ypsilon had given him previously, his priest robes tucked away in their bag. The priest robes were more mangled than they’d been before, and he didn’t want them to see his condition. He’d imagine he should feel tired, the fight with Alduin had been long and troublesome, not to mention he’d spent the whole night tending worrying about his… hm. He didn’t know what to call them, he thought frustratedly. He peered into the dim opening of the tent, watching as they breathed lightly, curled up asleep. He partially wanted to join them, but he decided against it, he felt as if he had already slipped past set boundaries due to their wounded state. He looked away, gazing off into the forest absent-mindedly. 

In the far distance, his eyes caught on to what seemed to be a distant stag. It had long, slender horns, but it was a strange white. He squinted at it, and it seemed to double in size as if it stood on its hind legs. Something was not right. He got to his feet, his hand falling upon his sword on his hip, holding his ground, keeping an eye on the distant beast. He watched as a black bird flew to it, almost as if it was comically talking to it, landing on one of its horns, and the strange deer lowered itself back down, vanishing into the distance. He blinked, that was strange… He could’ve sworn that the deer in question was surprisingly human shaped. He felt suspicious of the forest around them, it no longer felt safe, and he looked towards the tent. 

Ducking inside, he fell to his knees next to their sleeping form. He was about to reach out to touch them, to wake them, but he shook his head, getting back to his feet. “Dovahkiin, wake up.” he said, his voice not too loud, but enough to awaken them. 

They slowly came to, their body stretching out comfortably, but it was quickly ended when they winced at their wounded leg. He felt a bit of pity flare up in his chest, and watched with his arms crossed as they got to they got into a sitting position. Their mask was still on their face, although slightly askew, and they fumbled with it, putting it back to normal. They yawned and stretched their arms, their gaze going to him. 

“Oh…” they said quietly, seeming confused. “Good morning? Or at least I think it’s morning?”  

He nodded. “The sun is coming up now.” 

“That’s good, I was worried I would’ve slept for too long.” they responded. “Thanks for getting me off the mountain, Miraak.” 

He nodded curtly, accepting their thanks. They looked at him a bit longer, and he felt himself go ablaze under their gaze, even though he couldn’t see behind their mask, he knew where their focus laid. He was glad his mask was on and that his body language provided little information about his emotional state, but unfortunately it could not be said for his dragon soul. It had busied itself with blowing flame lightly at itself in a sheepish way, and Miraak tried to figure out how Ypsilon was doing. Their soul was still curled up trying to sleep, so that was pretty tell-tale on how they were actually feeling.  

They got to their feet, stumbling slightly. “We should probably pack up and go to Whiterun, I’ll have to explain you to my friends.” they murmured, testing out their leg a bit, still wincing a bit at it, but not as bad. “They’ll probably recognize you, or at least your mask.” 

He wondered if they’d alerted the guards or something of his existence, but he was suddenly caught up in his thoughts. Were their friends those werewolves…? He hoped not, and he frankly doubted it, there was no way that they could be nestled in Whiterun, not to mention they probably weren’t from around the area at all. He shook himself out of his thoughts. “Did you alert any authorities?” he asked, backing out of the tent, and they followed. “They would be more rigid and not accept any amends.” 

“Well…” Ypsilon said, they seemed thoughtful. “No, I was told by them to tell the Jarl, but I didn’t…” they trailed off. “... I didn’t want the possible threat of you to hinder me from catching a dragon. I’m also glad that I didn’t because now they won’t freak out at your appearance!”

“Catching a dragon?” he asked, his voice betraying a bit of his confusion. What had they been up to? He was relieved he didn’t have an entire hold against him, not that it would prove a problem to him, but it definitely would to them. 

“Oh, well. I guess I didn’t tell you that! I had to fly on a dragon to get to Skuldafn, since I had no wings.” they answered, seeming excited with the fact that they flew. “It was originally me catching him in Dragonsreach to get information on where Alduin was, but it became him taking me to Skuldafn.

“Ah… Did you use my shout?” he asked. He was glad that Bend Will had come in handy, he was surprised that they would’ve used it at all. Some part of him felt smug that they had to use something that was originally his and something they had picked up from him.

“Oh? Bend Will? No, no!” they said, and Miraak felt his ego deflate. “I was able to get the dragon to fly me there upon its own free will, he was nice.”

Miraak scowled from behind his mask. While he was impressed with the fact that they were able to befriend a dragon, somehow, he was somewhat envious. He quelled that emotion quickly, and he watched as they went to collapse the tent. “What dragon was it? How did you catch him?” he wanted to ask them a million questions, his need for knowledge clashing with his urge to try and remain disconnected.

They paused for a moment while they picked up their sleeping bag. “His name was Odahviing, Snow Winged Hunter? He took me up to Skuldafn, and I also saw him on the Throat of the World. He said if I needed any help, I could call upon him.” 

Miraak felt his stomach drop. Odahviing, he recognized the name instantly… Alduin’s right hand officer. One of the ones who’d led the final attack on his temple before Vahlok had gotten at him. He tried to remember how Odahviing looked, but his mind could only replay the dark shadows cast by many wings and the smell of singed flesh, and he cringed inwardly. “You befriended one of Alduin’s commanders?” he asked, trying to not sound bewildered. “Conspired with his right-hand?”

“Well, yeah, he apparently was amongst the dragons questioning Alduin’s lordship,” they answered, the tent was almost completely collapsed and put away. “He was quick to make the decision to take me to Skuldafn to see if Alduin was really fit to lead them, and so I guess when we beat Alduin, Odahviing made up his mind against Alduin. It’s strange, I don’t understand dragon politics, but I’ll admit I’m really relieved. He’s an invaluable ally, honestly!”  

“I’ll take your word for it…” he said hesitantly, if they trusted Odahviing, he’d try to keep an open mind. “Dragons will betray you, just as others will. You need to keep an eye on him, if you ever come face to face with him again.” 

Ypsilon shook their head. “I’ll see when the time comes.” they murmured, before looking at him. “I’m sorry if the dragon that betrayed you was Sahrotaar prior to our fight. I can only imagine the trust you have in him.” 

Miraak crossed his arms, not willing to let them in on that. He didn’t say a word, unable to accept their apology, as a twinge in his gut made him feel guilt for his old dragon. He wondered if Mora still had him, along with the other two.  “So, shall we move on to Whiterun immediately?”  

A lot of things were on his mind, but he wanted mainly to get out of this forest. He felt like he was prey, and that was a feeling that rarely came to him. He didn’t feel threatened easily due to the fact that he could easily fight off anything that came his way, he was powerful, but something about his surroundings felt wrong. He watched as they fumbled with the last bits of the tent, and then they turned to him. 

“Yeah! We can head there, I’ll need to check on my friends, I’m worried about all of them since apparently something weird happened on Nirn during the fight against Alduin. Also, they’ll probably be worried sick! You can introduce yourself to them, and we can clear up your name, and!!” they were talking so fast and excitedly that they ran out of breath and was forced to take a moment. “... I have a house there, and we can relax there, and you’re welcome to stay there. Of course, I mean. If that’s what you want.” 

“Wherever you go, I will follow, Dovahkiin.” Miraak responded, and he felt a warmness fill him, he was too tired to push it away. 

“I’ll follow you wherever you go too, Miraak!” they said, their voice making him feel internally giddy as their tone was light and happy. “We’re partners in crime now! And I’m sure you’ll love the house, it’s nice and quiet most days!” 

Ypsilon came to his side, their backpack now on, their hands gripping at the straps. They seemed to be looking him over, and he felt his face get warm from their gaze. He shifted slightly, not uncomfortable, but wondering what had gotten their attention. He felt their hands reach for his arm, and he winced as they touched it. 

“Oh, Miraak!” they said, their voice ringed with concerned. “You’re injured, too…?”  

He didn’t want them to notice, but alas, it was too late and nodded slightly. “Do not worry for me, it’s but a small wound.” he muttered, he really didn’t want them worrying for him, they were the one with the ridiculous injuries. 

“No, no, it’s definitely not a small wound! You’ve got such deep scratches…” their hands came to his sleeves, and they rolled it up slightly. “Is it from a draugr? You might get it infected! Please, please sit.”  

They tried to tug him down a little bit, and he obliged, sitting down next to them, crossing his legs comfortably. He felt his heart pounding as their hands grazed his skin, he hadn’t been touched skin to skin in a long time, and their touch was strange, but not unwelcome. They were surveying it, and they pulled a bandage from their bag, their hands gingerly unrolling it. They carefully and meticulously began to wrap his hurt upper arm. Once it was tight enough, they sighed outwards satisfied, and they rolled his sleeve back down. 

“I can’t do much about it nor should I use a spell, if I close the wound you may get an infection…” they explained. “We can clean up you wound when we get home, okay?” 

He nodded at them. “We should be light on our feet then, you need medical attention, too.”

 

.… .... ....

 

The trek to Whiterun was fortunately easier than originally expected. The snow was light, and there was not much issues with the weather rather than its usual winter chill. The path was a bit long, but they made it to the gates of the walled city before the sun was highest in the sky. Ypsilon needed support physically here and there because their wounded leg, and Miraak was more than happy to help. There was something about the closeness of holding on to them gave, and he was definitely not opposed to touching them, although he’d never admit it. Truthfully, the feeling of another body and presence was welcome, he hadn’t felt anything like it in so long. Even before Apocrypha, he didn’t recall being this close to someone anytime around his priesthood, nothing this tender.  

He liked being able to feel their form against his, and he had quickly familiarized himself with how they were shaped and how they moved. He was able to gauge their pain via how their gait was, and he had been keeping note of it since they’d started, giving them more support depending upon what he could sense. They had kept thanking him over and over again, and he wanted nothing but for them to be alright. He didn’t need their thanks. Once they were healed he would accept it.

The two were currently climbing the slight hill up to the city, and Ypsilon let out a confused noise. “Weird, no one's outside at all… even in the stables?” their voice was thick with worry, and they let go of him when they crossed the bridge, walking forward on their own.  

Miraak was sad to let go of them, but he followed after them, easily keeping up with their slower pace. They seemed confused, and as they approached the huge gates to the city, one of the guards standing there came up to them, meeting them halfway. 

“Welcome back, Dragonborn!” the man said, his accented voice giddy and excited. “You’ve done it! You’ve saved us all!”  

Ypsilon seemed shocked and their body language was stiff. “Oh, uh I…” they seemed unsure on how to carry on. 

“Back to your own post, son.” called the voice of another older guard who stood by the door, his voice unamused. 

The guard who’d came up was slightly disappointed. “Aww…” he came back to his post, taking slow steps. “I wish I could be part of the festivities, sir!”  

“... Festivities…?” They hissed out quietly under their breath. Ypsilon and Miraak followed after him, and Miraak was wondering what the big deal was. He crossed his arms, observing Ypsilon’s stiff movements. He didn’t understand what the problem was, and expected them to act all dutiful or proud, but they didn’t really speak further. He stiffened up too, following their example.

The other guard looked at Ypsilon and gave a little suspicious glance towards Miraak. “Thank you, Dragonborn for saving us, I was told to tell you to go to the town square upon your return.”  

“Oh, of course, it’s not a problem.” Ypsilon responded, their voice wiggly and nervous. “Oh, I’ll head there right away, thank you.”

The guard gave them a salute, and they opened the door for the two. Miraak glared from behind his mask at the two guards, he was annoyed by them clearly sizing him up. The two passed through the doors and they were greeted by the sight of many people gathered around the main road. They were all talking amongst each other, drinking and eating, smiling and celebrating. A few people were lighting fires on the braziers, feeding the fires with some wood, and Miraak immediately did not want to be here. Too many people, he hadn’t seen this many in ages. There was a large table set out, platters of roasted meat, vegetables, fruits, and mead all on top, organized in large, blue bowls. There was a bard playing a tune on his flute, and another woman who was singing along. 

Miraak wanted to do nothing but curl up and sleep. Maybe with a book, too, however, it seemed like it wouldn’t happen. He watched as a Nord man with blond hair, a beard, and a golden and ruby circlet came up, followed by a Dunmer woman, a hooded mage, and a few guards. Ypsilon shifted slightly, this time with surprise, and Miraak stiffened, wondering what was up.

“Welcome home, Dragonborn!” the man said, his voice friendly and loud over the sound of everyone else. 

Ypsilon relaxed and he could hear the smile in their voice. “Glad to be back! Good afternoon, Jarl Balgruuf!” they said. “It’s kind of weird to see you outside Dragonsreach!” 

He gave them a grin, and Ireleth nodded in agreement, her eyes were warm. “Well, I can’t not join in the festivities with my people!” he says, clapping his hands together, seeming jolly. “It’s time to be merry, to celebrate your victory!”  

A couple of the people cheered and took notice of the Dragonborn. Ypsilon seemed a little taken aback by all the attention. “That’s true! But if I may ask, how did you know I won...?”   

Miraak wondered the same, honestly. Jarl Balgruuf gave them a light smile, and Ireleth did too. “The sky lit up as if on fire, and the entire earth began to shake, we’d thought you’d lost, that it was over.” 

“I’d never seen anything like it.” Ireleth said, her voice somewhat breathless, she shook her head slightly, as if trying to remove the thought of it. “I never thought the sky could become so many colors within so little time…”

“We then heard your shouting, along with Alduin’s.” Farengar said, his hood concealing his awestruck expression. “And then the sky closed up, quite peculiar actually. If I may I’d like to study the capabilities of you shouts if-” 

“Farengar, they’ve just gotten back,” Ireleth scolded and Balgruuf nodded along. “They need rest, not to be asked to become a science experiment.”

“Oh uh… Well, Dragonborn,” the hooded mage looked towards Ypsilon, his hands falling to his hip, and Miraak shifted uncomfortably, not liking this mage. “The offer still stands, I can test those capabilities another time, yes?”

Ypsilon nodded. “Sometime, yeah sure.” they murmured, clearly overwhelmed. 

“Well, until then,” the Jarl interrupts, noticing their demeanor change uncomfortably. “You are welcome to enjoy the festivities, after all they are in your honor! But, if you are in need of medical attention, I’ll get someone to fetch Danica. What of your… friend here? Does he need medical attention, too?” The Jarl squints at Miraak, and he crosses his arms in a way that could be considered hostile. The Jarl seemed confused, and was definitely sizing up Miraak. Miraak was admittedly an odd sight. He was a rather… tall Nord.

“Oh!” Ypsilon chirps, their voice much lighter than before. “Yeah, we both do! We’re both kind of injured.” 

“And you are…?” Ireleth eyed Miraak suspiciously and he scowled from behind his mask. 

They dare to question his presence? He stiffened and Ypsilon took note of his posture, their hand tugging on his sleeve lightly. “You should introduce yourself.” they told him, voice quiet. 

He gave them a quick nod. “Greetings. My name is Miraak, I am simply accompanying the dovahkiin.” he felt awkward, didn’t want to talk to anyone. They wouldn’t give him the pleasure of recognizing his name, and he was partially irritated with this. He wanted to say he was the First Dragonborn, that he was worthy of respect, along with celebration. He’d helped too. But his own discomfort outweighted his urge to make himself known.

Ireleth’s suspicion ebbed away, and her expression became relaxed. The mage eyed Miraak curiously, a twinkle in his eye, and he wondered if he was able to recognize him, via his mask or something. The Jarl was approached by a couple townsfolk who passed him a tankard, and then they were about to pass one to Ypsilon who waved their hand dismissively.  

“Welcome to Whiterun, son.” said the Jarl, giving him a good natured smile. “Enjoy the stay, and of course the festivities! It’ll be back to normal life, soon, too.”

Miraak nodded slightly, somewhat glad he didn’t press him for more information on who he was. Perhaps them travelling with the Dragonborn was enough to make people turn a blind eye to the fact that he was odd looking. The people in townsquare were all having a grand ol time, singing and dancing and talking amongst one another. From the crowd came a lady with dark hair, who was clad in steel armor. She stood a bit of a ways back, waiting for the Jarl it seemed. Miraak tried not to stare at her and also to not stare at the other festival-goers.

“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf!” Ypsilon thanked him for Miraak. “We’ll both enjoy it all! I may need to sit down, soon though.” 

“Of course, I’ll get someone to get Danica for you, as well.” The Jarl smiled and held out his hand, and Ypsilon took it. He shook their hand firmly, fingers gripping at their wrist as they two shared eye contact for a moment. “Thank you for being our savior.” he said and Ypsilon seemed to be alright with this bit of thanks. “There is a ceremony for you later.” 

“I couldn’t of done it without you, you let me trap the dragon! And also my friend here, he was crucial, he helped me all the way through!” Ypsilon responded. “And really?” 

“Aye, that’s true, but no one else could’ve defeated Alduin. That was all your own power. And really now…? Well, Miraak, you seem to be more that meets the eye, eh…?” He said, removing his hand from them. “I’ll have my guards come get you whenever it’s set to begin.”

Miraak gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut. He mentally urged Ypsilon to tell him, to tell him he was the First Dragonborn.

Ireleth piped up, a smile on her tired face. “I agree, you’re selling yourself short at this point. It was only a couple years ago where I had complete and utter disbelief in the possibility of a ‘Dragonborn’.” she also took Ypsilon’s hand into her own, but instead of gripping their wrist, she laid her other hand over their knuckles, Ypsilon’s palm facing downwards in her own. “Color me surprised, although I’m glad it worked out.”

The guards who had accompanied the Jarl were chattering amongst each other, and Miraak stared at them. It was strange, these people seemed to like them a lot. He was considering how this came to be, before he focused himself on Ypsilon’s voice. What they said was unsurprising, and he was also curious as to how they’d achieved dragonhood.

“Honestly, you and me both.” Ypsilon said, patting her hand, before she let go. “As a Bosmer, I had no idea I’d even be a possible candidate for being Dragonborn.”

_ Bosmer?  _ Miraak thought. They were a Snow Elf, not a Wood Elf… Or… Huh, maybe they were hiding their identity with their mask for that reason. Pretending to be a Bosmer seemed easy for a Snow Elf, they were somewhat visually similar. Concealing they were part of a long-lost race was easier too. When he’d first met them, he’d wondered how they’d become Dragonborn, and at least now he got some information. He wondered if it was because Snow Elves had inhabited Skyrim before the Atmorans had migrated into it from the Northern Lands, technically making them the original Skyrim inhabitants, thus amongst the dragons.

Ireleth nodded, before looking to Farengar. “You know anything about this?” she asked.

Farengar shook his head. “As much as I’ve studied, there’s never been anything that explains how a Dragonborn is selected. Theories, yes, but half-baked ones that make little sense to me.” he said, and Miraak was slightly interested in what he’d read. It peaked his interest. “Anyways, if you would be curious, I can keep searching, if need be.” 

Ypsilon hesitated, before shaking their head. “No, probably not, I feel like it’s not necessary to know…? Thank you though.”

Farengar nodded thoughtfully. “I may continue my studies just to continue them. If you change your mind in the future, I’ll know something at that point, preferably. It’s not a problem.”

Jarl Balgruuf began to turn around, Ireleth close to him. “Some things are better left in the unknown, yeah?”

Miraak was quick to break his own silence, his urge to talk and share growing too far. “Somethings are far to important to leave in the unknown.” he said, and all three turned his attention to him. “While I am uncertain if being Dragonborn is hereditary, it’s a blessing from Akatosh. We are bestowed with a dragonsoul, when that dragonsoul awakens I’m sure the user becomes aware of what power they’re capable of. Ypsilon was born that way, as was I. It was only a matter of it awakening.”

Miraak felt Ypsilon stiffen, as if nervously. And the Jarl’s eyes narrowed. Ireleth seemed somewhat confused, but her eyes also narrowed suspiciously. Farengar was the first to open his mouth. “We?” Farengar echoed. “As were you?” 

The armorclad woman with dark hair who was watching from a distance, stiffen as if shocked by the words.

Miraak felt pride flow into him, glad he was getting the recognition he deserved. Farengar piped up again. “Sir, are you Dragonborn?!” Farengar asked, excitement edging into his voice.

Jarl Balgruuf darted his attention to Ypsilon, who nodded. “Yeah, yeah, he is! He’s uhm, well. I picked him up on Solstheim, actually. He helped me with getting to Sovngarde to fight Alduin, and he saved my life during the fight when I’d almost lost.” they admitted. “Miraak, maybe you should re-introduce yourself…?” they asked, their voice soft, gently urging him.

Miraak was now feeling his ego reinflate, rebuilding itself, and he felt a bit proud of himself. “My name is Miraak and I am the First Dragonborn.” 

Ireleth’s jaw dropped, and as did the Jarls’. She glanced at him with confusion. “And how did you survive for this long…?” she seemed bewildered, skeptical, but she’d learned to trust Ypsilon’s words… so this couldn’t be some elaborate joke, could it?

However, Farengar was quick to cut off Ireleth. “No, no! He’s speaking the truth. Sir, you must be of Atmoran descent, yes? That’s why you’re so tall.” he jabbers quickly, and the Jarl still seems absolutely shaken. “Ireleth, he’s definitely telling the truth!”

Ireleth glances at Farengar. “I mean, I’m not saying he isn’t but I can’t even comprehend the scale of time that he has been alive for. That’s crazy, even for a mer.”

Miraak’s voice is practically oozing with smug, and Ypsilon chuckles at his proud tone. “It’s a long story, however, irrelevant now. Alduin was not slain by one, but two Dragonborn.” 

“Yep, and I really, genuinely couldn’t of done it without him!” Ypsilon adds, their voice very happy, and Miraak almost feels like he got knocked off his feet with all this positive attention.

“Two Dragonborn…” Jarl Balgruuf muses, his hand on his chin as he thought deeply. “Well. I know what we have to do. You both are welcome to the ceremony. It’s an honor to be in your presence, Dragonborn.” the Jarl says respectfully. “You may stay in my city as long as you need.”

Ireleth nods. “A pleasure.” she adds. “Not to mention, I’m sure there will be more dragon attacks in the future, so we’ll need all the help we can get.” 

Miraak nods. “I’d be happy to oblige.” he says, standing tall and proud. 

Farengar’s eyes light up. “You’ll have to share your knowledge with me!” he says, his voice excited and Miraak seems somewhat shocked by his enthusiasm. “There is far, far too much to be learned from you, and I want to hear it all.”

Miraak pauses, as if startled by his forwardness. Indeed he is, and Miraak takes a moment. He hadn’t expected that. This was different than being worshipped… this was suddenly utterly bizarre. “I will share what I know with any seeker of knowledge.” he said rather stiffly, before Ypsilon detected an issue in his sudden change in demeanor. 

Ypsilon was quick to deter the conversation, recognizing Miraak’s change of demeanor. “Apologies for interrupting, but I may need to rest my feet.” they shifted about a bit against Miraak, leaning to him. “We can definitely continue this at the ceremony though.”

“Oh, of course!” The Jarl said, and raised a hand in farewell. “Heal up and rest well, fighting the World Eater must’ve definitely left a toll on you!” 

“Thank you!!” Ypsilon called after him, before looking at their feet in a way that seemed nervous. 

Oh it had definitely left a toll… Miraak thought, looking towards their wounded leg. They seemed to be feeling a bit better, their weight wasn’t looking terribly displaced. He looked towards his arm, wanting to touch and see if it still hurt, but he knew it would. As the Jarl left, the woman who’d been waiting approached, and Miraak felt his metaphorical hackles rise as she beelined to Ypsilon, who was unfocused, looking at the floor.  

“My thane!” the woman said, her voice kind, and Ypsilon’s glance shot upwards, and their body language changing from that of exhaustion to extreme excitement. 

They moved forward, closing the short distance between the woman and themselves, wrapping her into a hug. Their arms went under the pauldrons of her armor, trying to not hurt themselves on the metal. “Lydia!” their voice held no more exhaustion, only joy. “I’m so glad to see you, so glad…” 

Lydia hugged them back and Miraak looked away, feeling like he was intruding on an important moment. He looked around. Since first entering Whiterun, they’d walked over a bridge, past a blacksmith’s workshop, and he looked at the weapons hanging on the racks. His gaze traced over the path that they were standing upon, which tapered off into the town square in the distance. Trees and houses lined the area, some seemed to be stores, too. There were posts for lanterns to be hung at night, and a small well-like fountain, most likely to refill waterskins and to get a drink or two. He kept avoiding watching the two, stepping away from them a bit.

The two held on to each other for a moment before letting go. “There’s so much I want to tell you!” Ypsilon said, their voice gentle, and their friend’s expression lit up as they spoke. “All about the fight and the dragon… well! Everything! So much happened.”

Lydia nodded, her lips curled into a smile. “You can tell me when you get off your feet, for now we should head inside, give you a moment to rest.” 

Ypsilon nodded gratefully, and Lydia stepped aside, before her eyes trained on Miraak. It seemed like something clicked in her blue eyes, and they glimmered with suspicion. Miraak held his head high, glaring at her from behind her mask, and he crossed his arms. “Care to introduce us?” Miraak growled and Ypsilon looked surprised and Lydia nodded in agreement, her mouth set in a frown. Miraak internally scoffed. Seeing people without masks letting their thoughts show through on their faces annoyed him. 

“Oh, uh, well…” Ypsilon seemed nervous. “Miraak, this is Lydia, my housecarl and my good friend! And, Lydia, this is Miraak, he’s the one I told you about… from Solstheim…” 

Lydia blinked. “This is him? You found him?” she looked to them, shock in her eyes. “You… you do have a lot to share with me, huh?”

Ypsilon nodded. “Yeah! He’s alright, Lyd. I told him that he could stay with us for a bit, too. He has nowhere else to go, and I’d like him to stay, if that’s okay with you.” 

Lydia went slightly pale, and her eyes widened, before she gave a deep breath, her expression relaxing. “Of course, I trust your judgement, Ypsilon.” she turned to him, giving him a nod and a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” she adds politely.  

“The pleasure is all mine.” Miraak responded, his voice low and quiet. He wondered just how much they’d shared. 

Lydia looked surprised, as if surprised by his politeness. She wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow for a moment, before she turned around. Moving towards one of the houses alongside the path, she pulled a key from her back pocket, and unlocked the door. Ypsilon followed after her, and Miraak followed after them respectively. He was hesitant, somewhat feeling safer under the sky, but he followed in anyways.  Lydia swung the door open, and the two entered, followed up the young housecarl. She closed the door shut behind them, it creaking as she pulled on the handle a bit.  

The cold of the outside paled in comparison to the warmth of the inside of this house. Miraak had to take a moment for his eyes to adjust. The light was dim, only the firepit and lit candles lit the downstairs, and Miraak relaxed a bit. Above the firepit was a metal hanger, with drying salmon latched onto it via clips. There was also some garlic cloves tied up to it, along with some herbs and plants that had been held up to dry. There was a cooking pot on a stand next to the firepit, a table and some chairs were strewn about behind it, in a way that was somewhat messy. However, the clean dishware stacked neatly on top of the table made up for this, and Miraak was somewhat annoyed with the mess. There were two soft looking arm chairs that were next to the firepit, a stack of books placed messily in a basket behind the chairs. This who downstairs area was very homey, even the rug, which was probably once extravagant, showed humble wear and tear. There was a couple wooden weapon racks against the walls, showing off a few study looking swords, and a bow. There was a bookshelf taking up another part of the wall, and Miraak noted that the books were worn, not dusty, nor crinkled, but the parts of the pages he could see were yellowed with age. He instantly recognized volumes he’d read before. 

Lydia settled down at one of the chairs at the table, and Ypsilon joined her, Miraak staying a short distance away. He stood there, looking at them, and Ypsilon patted the seat next to them, and he quietly slipped into the seat. His posture however was far from relaxed, and he seemed to be stiff and uncomfortable. He watched as Ypsilon tugged at the clips that held their mask in place, and he watched as they tugged it free. His heart skipped a beat, and he bit his lip. They toyed with their hair a bit, trying to make it look more neat, and he had to tug his eyes away. He assumed that them and Lydia were close enough to not have to wear the mask, and he assumed they’d take it off in their home. He was hoping they wouldn’t want him to take off his. The downside to not wearing a mask was that people could see your emotions easily, the eyes were doorways to the soul. He’d prefer no one to see his, nor would he be able to deal with it if he saw himself in a reflection. Instead, he quietly gawked at them, watching as they leaned forward comfortably.

Lydia leaned back in her chair, relaxed. “Sooo…. Want to share what has happened?” she asked, her tone mellow.

“Well!” Ypsilon pushed a strand of dark hair from their face. “Where did you want me to start anyway-”  

Ypsilon was cut off by the front door slamming open and Miraak stiffened further, his hands instinctively alighting with a fire spell. His fingers twitched and he swung around to look, only to be greeted by the excited grins of these two very similar looking men, along with a rugged looking woman. They stood in the doorway for a moment, Miraak closing his fist but not dispelling his fireball, and he noted Ypsilon relaxing. Lydia had barely budged as if she was accustomed to this. The woman closed the door behind them, rolling her eyes and sighing. She held a few tankards by the handles expertly in one hand, balancing two plates stacked with festival food on her other hand. One of the men was clearly drunk his arm on his brother for support, and him and his twin sung in unison loudly and cacophonously.

“ _Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart!_ ” the two sung, one voice so terribly drunk it seemed like it was impossible for him to be coherent. “ _I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes_!”   

“Hush you two! No one wants to hear your terrible chorus! Leave it to the bards!” The woman seemed exhausted, but a tired smile fell onto her face when her eyes fell upon Ypsilon and Lydia. “Welcome back, I’m sure you took my advice and armed yourself to the teeth, yeah?” 

“Aww.. Aela…You ruin the fun!” the drunken one protested, and the other one shook their head, laughter twinkling in his eyes as he tried to hoist his brother into a better posture that was not too close to his ears. 

“Aela! Vilkas, Farkas! It’s good to see you all!” Ypsilon nodded lightly. “Yeah, I did, It did help, things went pretty well, actually!” their voice was chipper.

“Good to see you, too, whelp!” Farkas hiccupped, before getting cut off by his brother, who was completely understandable without slurred words.  

“How’d it go? You go to Sovngarde or something like that?” Vilkas asked, his eyes curious, voice excited.

Lydia jumped into the conversation. “Well, they were about to just explain all that happened, but then you three had to crash the party!” 

“Aww! Lyd! You love us, what are you talking about?” Vilkas said and Farkas lifted his mug joyously, making a ‘woo’ noise that sounded dangerously close to a wolf noise.

“I’ll be back later.” Miraak huffed outward, and Ypsilon looked to him, their white eyes wide with concern.  

Miraak slid up from his seat, treading past the three, and Aela looked towards him, wrinkling her nose as if he smelt bad. He looked to her for a moment, not really caring, moving towards the door. The brothers were unphased by him, somehow, and the two barely acknowledged his presence. He opened the door, the light from outside filtering in.  

“Oh, be careful, don’t go too far!” Ypsilon called after him, their voice soft in comparison to all the loud noise.  

Gritting his teeth, Miraak growled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that he slipped outside.  

He took in a deep breath as soon as he closed the door behind him. He’d felt like he was suffocating amongst all the noise and commotion. Nice and quiet? Is that what they’d said earlier? Because that was the furthest thing from quiet. He huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. Accidentally, he brushed up against his bandaged wound, and he felt annoyance surge through him. He’d take care of his wounds later, he reminded himself, for now he wanted to get away. He didn’t want to be near so many people whatsoever, and he beelined towards the city gates. Even if the city was under the great big sky, he needed more fresh air, less smoke from the braziers and torches, and less cacophony from the festivities just up the road. The guards looked towards him, but they seemed to pay him no mind as he went through the doors. He needed to think, to be alone. His mind wasn’t functioning right about now, and he wasn’t going to be able to tolerate noise or people. 

One guard looked at him in an awed way, and mentioned something about “Dragonborn” to the other. Miraak felt himself feel a bit better. Word travelled quickly, he was once again noticed, not forgotten. But for now, he wanted rest his exhausted mind in a quiet space. He managed to locate a comfortable perch along the stony walls, close to some bushes and under the sky. He sat down and crossed his legs, criss-cross and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, and listened to the world. 

Nothing was heard except for the cacophony of the festival, and for a moment he felt peace with the cold, cold land that he’d once referred to as his home. It was so familiar… but also not. And he was at peace with experiencing it again.


	17. Lonely Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter! But I like writing bed-time type things. It's soft and cute, I feel.
> 
> Also Ypsilon's that one dog from that one movie that says: "I've just met you, but I love you."

It was late by the time Miraak returned to the insides of the city. The sky was dark, Masser and Secunda hovering above looking down upon them. Stars stretched for as far as he could see, and the fact that the entirety of the Whiterun hold was plains emphasized this effect. All he was paying attention to was his bootsteps against the paved stone roads and the looks the guards gave him. The city was nice at night, quieter, not painful to look at either. He was relieved to see that the festival was over, the only thing left from it was the burning embers of the fire pit and some discarded bottles from wine and mead that a young woman was quietly picking up.  

He’d thought a lot, about many things, and he still felt like he had zero answers for any of the questions he was pondering. It seemed like he’d have to wait and see, but he had little patience. His thoughts drifted to Mora, wondering what was going on with that fiend. Hopefully Mora had calmed down and would leave them both be. Although he hoped for it, he knew it was most likely not true, after serving under the beast for 4,000+ years he was far more familiar with the Princes’ behavior than he wanted to be. Hermaeus Mora was terrible at letting things go, and was probably currently plotting his demise as he laid around doing not much of anything. 

He moved towards Ypsilon’s house, his hand hesitating when he got to the handle. He partially wasn’t sure if he should go back in, or if the door would even be open for him. Sighing, he grabbed the handle, opening the door. It was louder than he meant it to be, and he entered the low candlelight of the downstairs floor. There was no one in there, and the fire was still going, Miraak let out a relieved breath, but otherwise was unsure of what he should be doing. The once clean table was now a mess, the plates strewn about, and cups all over the place. It was somewhat ridiculous to him, it was like a cyclone had been through here. 

He left the spot from in front of the doorway, closing the door behind him, and his train of thought was stopped abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the wooden stairs. The housecarl, Lydia, came down, her expression wary and tired, but she seemed to calm slightly when she recognized Miraak. 

“Oh, it’s you.” she said, looking to him as she reached the landing. “Welcome back.” 

Miraak remained quiet, and Lydia came closer, and he moved aside, watching as she twisted the lock and chained the door shut. He sized her up, she was heavily armored, and a weapon sat on her hip. It was stained slightly, and he thought it must’ve seen many fights. She backed away from the door, moving back towards the staircase.  

“Ypsilon told me to tell you that you’re welcome to stay in their bedroom.” she said, her voice low, trying to not speak loudly. “It’s up the stairs on the right, I think there’s some food leftover for you that’s up there on the table.” 

She went to go up the stairs and Miraak remained quiet, crossing his arms and pondering to himself. “Of course, if it’s not warm enough, there’s also all the dried food we keep in the counters.” Lydia pointed to a pantry. “You can help yourself, there’s waterskins- you can refill them outside in the little fountain, or there’s mead and wine if that’s your type of thing.” 

“Thanks.” Miraak said, and he was seriously wondering what she’d heard about him. 

“Don’t mention it.” she responded, her voice harboring no anger or annoyance at him. “Just be careful with making noise, we need our sleep.”

“Understood, but. Where is Ypsilon sleeping…? They’re home correct?” he asked her, his voice feeling strange when he said their name, he’d become so accustomed to calling them ‘Dragonborn’ or ‘Dovahkiin’ constantly.  

Lydia started moving up the stairs, hand on the railings. “Er… they should be in their room, I haven’t checked.” 

“Ah.” he murmured, looking around and then towards the bookshelf, contemplating if he should snatch one of them and read instead of invading their room. 

“Mhhm. Goodnight, and welcome to Whiterun.” Lydia said politely, but she hesitated before cutting off the conversation.

“I heard about you earlier, nothing bad, all good things. I trust Ypsilon’s view upon you, but I’ll just say this to say it.” she says, her voice low. “Please don’t bring any harm to them, or to the rest of us… That’s all.” Not waiting for an answer and she vanished up onto the next floor, moving into a nearby doorway on the left. 

Miraak didn’t feel much better with her words. He really needed to gain these peoples trusts. Miraak was left to his own devices for a moment, and exhaustion fell into him. Ugh. He didn’t like being here, it was weird, too many people, he felt intrusive, but he didn’t need to be here. Not that he felt like he was unneeded, however, all the other people were unneeded, and he didn’t want to waste any time. _Any time for what?_ He thought to himself, before shaking it away. He hadn’t been in society in a while, and it was getting to him, getting under his skin. He didn’t want to sleep, didn’t feel up for it, at all. However, no matter how much he mentally urged himself to stay awake, get a book, read, he ended up trudging up the stairs. The wood creaked under his weight and as soon as he got up the landing, he noticed the door Lydia had vanished into. It was shut, and he heard the sounds of clinking metal and fabric shifting. She seemed like the type to sleep in her armor, and he couldn’t discern removal of armor from getting under the covers with it on. He shook himself of the humorous thought, and proceeded to turn the right corner, finding himself standing outside their bedroom door.  

The top floor was dimly lit, even less lit than downstairs. The floor was worn and creaky, and Miraak could make out the lower floor from in between the gaps in the planks. There was another small bookshelf, this one containing what looked like spell tomes and recipes. Miraak eyed these curiously, but he let out a yawn, trying to muffle it by slipping his hand underneath his mask. Shaking off the distraction, he lightly pressed his hand against their door, pushing it open with ease. He blinked to clear his vision, his eyes watering from the yawn. 

Their room was quaint, to say the least. It was small, the roof concave and the area somewhat tight. Against the far wall, was a large bed, covered in large, comfy-looking brown and white furs and some plush pillows. In the corner nearby was a table, two chairs pushed in underneath it. A plate of food sat atop the wooden table, some steam rising from it still. Miraak walked over to it, looking it over. Meat, steak of some kind… was it venison? Served with potatoes, more meat, and stew. He was too tired to be hungry, quite honestly… His attention was perked when he heard furs moving and shifting and he looked over to the source of the noise. 

On the floor, a bit of  a ways away from the bed was Ypsilon, curled up on top of a fur that was lain across the wood. Their armor was off, and they were wearing soft-looking plain clothes, their pant leg rolled up where their burn wound was. Their hurt leg was shoved off the corner, the back of it resting on the wood. It was covered in a salve, and Miraak felt annoyed with himself for not being able to get to that dragon before it got to them. His fault that they were this burnt. Their skin luckily looked less wrecked, and they were sleeping peacefully, their eyes shut tight, their mouth set slightly open.

Why were they on the floor? Did they roll of the bed? No, they would’ve woken up, he hoped. He took his attention off of them, and returned to the table, wondering if he should eat or not. He eventually came to the conclusion of deciding not to, he’d probably eat it in the morning when they weren’t in the room. Stew needed leverage to consume by drinking it from the bowl, and he was not willing to take off his mask when he ran the risk of them waking up. He was about to turn away when his eyes caught onto a folded piece of paper underneath the plate.  

He tugged it out lightly, and he stared at the folded parchment for a moment, wondering if it was even meant for him. He unfolded it, his eyes drifting over it.  

 

“ _ Miraak-  _

_ I hope you got home okay! I left some food out for you, I hope that you like this sorta stuff. I know it took some getting used to for me, Nord food tends to be very… hearty… _

_ I tried to find you before the ceremony but couldn’t so I hope it’s okay that you missed it. Danica, the priestess was there, and I told her that ‘my friend would need medical attention whenever he gets home’. So! If you get a housecall from a priestess anytime soon, that’s why! _

_On the other hand, the bed is open for you to use, just like in Solstheim! Sleep tight!!”_  

 

Their handwriting was neat, and bubbly, and Miraak wrinkled his nose from behind his mask. They were far too kind for their own good. He only wished he could be the same. He still was stubborn and curt with them, and yet...He shook his head. He moved towards the bed, contemplating if he should even take it. His usual willpower was instantly crushed, and he succumbed to the bed, soft furs and all. The furs cushioned his mask and made it so the metal didn’t dig into his face. The bed was large, yet he stayed on the side closest to Ypsilon’s spot on the floor. His eyes drifted over their sleeping form, his eyelids beginning to lull shut.

“What is it that you see in me…?” he whispered to himself.

He knew he wouldn’t get an answer, for they were asleep. Nor could he even comprehend any possible answers. It didn’t make any sense to him, it shouldn’t be happening, and yet, here he was. Both him and the Last Dragonborn, here at once,  _ together _ . He had a lot of conflicting emotions on this, but he was too tired to react to any of his thoughts. Perhaps his delirious late-night mind should’ve reconsidered when he exhaustedly hefted them up into the bed, his hands careful to not touch their hurt leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have 2 more chapters to finish editing, now!! :3c Winning Stretch!


	18. Early Bird (or Dragon) Catches the Worm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is literally tooth-rotting fluff, I hope y'all enjoy it. One of my strongest points is writing early morning/late night fluff when both parties are sleepy. That's my favorite stuff.
> 
> Of course, there's also nightmare-related stuff (Ypsilon is one of those Azura worshippers who is absolutely smitten with her), the nightmare making another, upcoming plot relevant, and more development on the two of them sharing dreams. It'd be fun to co-op dream, in all honesty...

It was dark, completely pitch black. Their legs were weak and tired, mind foggy and exhausted, yet they kept moving forward through the void. They limped, and then with a terrifying flash of light they were grabbed. From the pitch black darkness, unseen hands clawed at them, shapes similar to Lurkers and Seekers gaunt limbs, talons tearing into their skin, something that felt like a spear getting jabbed into their back. They attempted to keep moving, however, thick, oily tentacles coiled around their throat and ankles, forcing them to remain still as they got attacked. They fell to a kneel.

They couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything, and they felt a dulled  panic rise in them. Suddenly, their bindings vanished and the floor below them gave out, and they were falling. The anxious feeling inside them beginning to boil, threatening to overflow. They shut their eyes tight, readying for the pain of hitting the ground. 

However, it never came. They had landed somewhere soft… They blinked their eyes, vision wobbly and looked around. The world was like a painting, the sky blurring and blending with abnormal colors. They could spot rose bushes rising all around them, beautiful shades of blue and yellow and everything in between. They let out a light sigh, calmer than originally, and their gaze drifted to the sky above. Both the moon and the sun hung in the painted sky, and Ypsilon blinked, watching as the clouds lazily drifted with a sweet-smelling breeze. 

The landscape began to shiver and swirl and it was in this moment that the dream changed again, and they were wandering outside. It was cold, and they were confused as to why it wasn’t cold at all.  Tall, stone pillars holding up a decorative stone overhang surrounded them in the courtyard they were standing in, and their eyes caught on to the various tables, the tall wizard statue - posed dramatically, and the other various magical-looking things about. They paced, glowing eyes falling onto the front door, a stone slab with an eye carved onto it. They felt strange, maskless here?  

Why at the College of Winterhold? They felt like they were following a set path as their feet carried them along, heading towards the front door like a man on a mission, and then as they moved, their eyes fell upon something strange. Standing in the shadows of the overhang was a man clad in dark purple robes with golden trim and a mask glinting and shining against the small amount of light that was reaching him. They felt lucidity flow into them, and they felt delight enter them.  _ Miraak. _ They changed courses, and went towards him, their heart pounding in their chest as they came forth. 

He seemed to observe them for a moment, arms crossed, but he seemed surprisingly unprepared for what they were about to do. They wrapped their arms around him, gripping him tightly along his waist, and his arms flew to his sides in confusion. He stood there, unsure, and Ypsilon buried their face into his robes heaving out a great sigh. They felt content, and they felt even more content when his hands almost hesitantly wrapped around their shoulders. He was warm, and Ypsilon marveled at how alive he felt for a dream. They gripped him a bit tighter, and then the world blurred out, the landscape folding up and they blinked their eyes. 

All a dream. They looked around, their eyes wet and blurry. Their room was slightly lit from the light entering in through the tiny window, and they felt confusion ebb into them as they saw they were no longer asleep on the floor. Their arms were tucked at their sides, and they felt unusually warm, but not bad. They turned to look at their leg, which was still held away from their body at a slight angle, and they gripped at the furs beneath them, the softness grounding them and waking them up slightly. They looked to their right, and they almost gasped out when they saw Miraak’s sleeping form next to them. He was breathing lightly, indicated from the slight rise and fall of his robes, and they moved a hand to touch him softly, their fingers prying slightly at him, toying with his robes.

Their dream slowly faded away from memory, and with a light smile on their face, they purred: “Good morning, Miraak.” 

He jolted it seemed, and they moved their hand away. He seemed stiff for a moment, but then he relaxed, propping himself up on his arm. “Mmm… good morning, dovahkiin.” he drawled, his voice tired. 

They tiredly smiled at him, before realization set in, and they felt guilty. “Oh! I’m sorry, I must’ve slept walked into bed, or something…” they apologized, hoping they hadn’t startled him or bothered him.

He shook his head. “No, that was me.” he said, his voice low and slow. “It’s your home, you do not belong on the floor.” 

“Oh…” they murmured, trailing off.  

And then it was silent. They rested their head in the pillows, looking at him, but they realized that they weren’t wearing their mask. Oh… they hoped he wouldn't mind their staring. They tore their eyes away and a dark blush coated their face, and they rolled on to their side, turning away from him. The markings on their body glowed slightly, as if in tune with their blushing. They heard him shift, pulling the covers off of himself, and they felt awkward, holding their face in their hands. 

“My sincerest apologies for not going to the ceremony.” he said, voice quiet.

They shook their head. “It’s not a big deal, really. You were welcome to the spotlight, I’m sorry I didn’t come out to get you or something.” they responded. “It wouldn’t of been pleasant to be there, too many people, right?”

Their mind drifted back to it, before they were cut out of their thoughts by him speaking again. “You needn’t worry about accommodating me.” 

They shook their head, eyes closing and their fingers weaved through their hair, gripping lightly. “No, no. I don’t like it either. I may know everyone in Whiterun, I’m well acquainted with them, yeah...” they murmured. “But I still get nervous around too many people, and especially since all eyes were on me…”

Their mind began to replay the ceremony. It was quick in their mind, but they were sure it had been much longer. Words from the Jarl, from Farengar, from other major people in the city. Today was the first day of the new holiday, Day of the Dragonborn, the savior of the people. They barely could grasp the thought of how important they suddenly were to everyone in Skyrim, and that terrified them. Sure, they’d always wanted to leave their mark _somewhere_ but this was all too much, and they didn’t like it. They weren’t a hero, they were just doing their job, following their preset path… Their mind felt muddled.  

“Were they not giving you praise?” Miraak asked, and Ypsilon seemed confused for a moment, wondering what he meant. It took them a moment to realize that what Miraak probably meant was from his own point of view, while he didn’t like the presence of people, he most definitely liked praise and attention. Probably stemmed from his ranking as a Dragon Priest or his… general arrogance. 

“Yeah… they were. I didn’t like it.” they answered, simply. “I don’t like that I’m getting praised for following a dumb path set up for me. I’m just doing my job.” 

Miraak was silent as he listened, and they wanted to curl in on themselves, and vanish entirely. “ _ I’m not sure why I’m the Dragonborn… _ ” they whispered, feeling guilty for venting to him so early.

There was silence for a moment, and Ypsilon regretted speaking. They felt their heart hammer in their chest as they heard the furs and blankets ruffling. Arms wrapped around them, and they suddenly felt like they were tearing up. Their eyes were no longer watering from them being tired, but tearing from all the emotion filling them. They felt warm in his grip, and their icy blue markings pulsated slightly with embarrassment. One of their hands went to their face, wiping at it, and the other pressed up to his arms wrapped around them.

It was quiet, and they felt calmer before he started speaking again. “I don’t know the exact reasons as to why you are Dragonborn, as to why the blood of dov chose you. I doubt those questions could ever be answered.” he murmured, his voice metallic and close to their ear. “However, your slaying of Alduin was not going with your path, or as you said long ago ‘go with the flow’.”

They pressed closer to him, melting into his embrace, a blush dusting their cheeks. He continued to speak, his voice soft. “You did it to help others, you help people. You could’ve simply ran away from your fate, turnt a blind eye to the suffering. Instead you worked to get to Skuldafn, to fight Alduin, and you successfully did.” 

They felt anxiety flare up in them. They knew it wasn’t totally true, they did want to help people, yeah, but... “But, I needed help. I couldn’t do it alone. If you hadn’t been there I would’ve failed…” 

One of Miraak’s hands that was wrapped around them reached up to touch their face, the leather of his gloves stroking and petting at their skin. They felt him move in closer, their back pressed up against his chest, and they were more than happy to be like this, despite the stressful conversation. 

His voice picked up again, the signature metallic ring of his voice was becoming somewhat calming to them, familiar, nice. “That was your doing, you  _ are _ the one who removed me from Apocrypha. You are the one who drove me to assist you in slaying the World Eater.” he said. “‘ _ Fate decreed that you must die so I could win my freedom _ ’... that was clearly false. You are master not only of your own fate, but also mine, it seems.”

Ypsilon remembered that he had said that before they had begun battle, and something clicked in them, and their tears began to fall. They felt dumb, sniffling in his arms, crying like an idiot over something like this. “I…” they quickly trailed off, unable to keep talking.

His arms tightened their grip, in a way that felt protective, and one hand wiped at their eyes, the leather smoothing over their skin. They felt anxiety in their chest, not from his presence, not at all, but from the situation alone. They thought about how being Dragonborn was, and how it’d stress them out, how it felt like the whole world weighed down on their shoulders. Their friends had tried to understand that they didn’t like it, but they still acted extremely grateful towards them, and they felt like they were on a pedestal, even to the people who they felt like they were always even with. What was it that they’d been called? A piece of a divine chucked out of Aetherius to walk the mortal plane? They wished they hadn’t been called that, oh, how they wished they knew more… They didn’t like the idea, they were already put on a pedestal enough.

However, with Miraak, it was different. Perhaps, because of his arrogance, perhaps because he thought he was somehow better, or perhaps… he just was able to understand them, and perhaps they were truly and completely on par with him. As the First Dragonborn, he was also a little hunk of Akatosh chucked from a different plane… 

He pet their face, eventually when their tears stopped, his hands fell back to being comfortably wrapped around them. Moments passed and they felt themselves relax. “I personally welcome you having this control over my own fate… I haven’t felt this alive in many centuries… even before my admission to Apocrypha, I doubt it felt this…good.” 

“Miraak, I don’t control you…” they murmured, feeling bad, feeling like they’d manipulated him, or something. 

“You do not, however your influence and kindness has pushed me into a direction unexpected. I had not even considered…” he trailed off, and Ypsilon wondered what he was going to say. “... I suppose. Being this happy with someone.”

They felt their heart hammering in their chest, and his hands gripped at theirs, weaving their fingers against his. They hoped he couldn’t feel how fast their heart was going, how nervous they were, but when they turned to look at him, they knew he’d see how red their face was, how bright their markings were pulsating. How embarrassed and giddy they were… 

They opened their mouth to speak, wanting to tell him a billion things, to tell him that they really _REALLY_ weren’t worthy of this, but he silenced them with a finger to their lips. “Patience, _diinpeyti_ , allow me to finish speaking before you attempt to contend with me.” he said, and they quieted. “My arrogance once shrouded my vision, I wanted to be the only Dragonborn, the true Dragonborn, and yet… I had failed to consider the perks of having one with a soul similar to mine. You understand me, along with… the other aspects, the more intimate ones. While I was ready to fight you, I was unable to see into what fate had laid out for us… _Now through your eyes do I see…_ ”  

Wow. Ypsilon went slack jawed for a second, their mouth opening and closing, as if wanting to say something, but nothing came out. Did he really mean all that…? He… was too good to them, too kind. They thought it must be hard for him to let this out, and honestly, they were having a hard time grasping at his words, trying to believe him. Somewhere, though, in their heart they did, and they felt extremely comforted, unable to argue at this point.

It took a moment for them to regain their words. “Miraak, I’m sorry I set out to fight you. I was set on fighting you, too. I know, I know, there was no other way at the time, we were adversaries, enemies…” they said, staring at him, their face flushed. “I’m glad we’re not now, though. I like being around you, you make me feel nice. And happy. And not so weird, sometimes. I like having you as company...” 

“Those feelings are all the same, dovahkiin.” he murmured, and Ypsilon turned their head away, wishing to bury under the covers.  

His arms left them, and Ypsilon felt a bit sad, but they heard a noise, close to their ears, a slight click of a clasp being undone and their heart started to go even faster. They closed their eyes tight, did he just…? Take off his mask…? “Miraak…” they began, their voice ultra genuine. “I love you? A lot?” 

“I…” his voice sounded strange, not metallic at all and they opened their eyes, slowly tilting their head to look at him. “I love you, too.” his voice was still accented, just not… reverberating.  

They blushed darkly as they traced over his features. He was definitely a human, some sort of Nord…? Something about him wasn’t quite Nord though, anyways, who were they to judge. They were a weird elf. He was definitely youthful, definitely had aged well for 4,451 years… this was most likely how he looked before he entered Apocrypha, his appearance and age on a standstill until he got out. He had brown skin, and his mouth was set in a straight line. His jawline was strong, and marred by scars and knicks that traced all along his face. They wondered what those were from, but they should ask him some other time… He had stubble, dark and scritchy, and they noticed it parted in some areas where his scarring was. His eyes, however, were the most startling aspect of his appearance. His eyes were completely pitch black, with a couple spots of green, and they noticed that they could still tell where he was looking, despite the lack of pupils. Wavy-ish, medium length dark brown hair fell messily over his forehead, and his brow was set in a somewhat resting annoyed expression, however, he didn’t seem to be annoyed whatsoever. In fact, despite his rugged appearance, he looked gentle, and they were pleasantly surprised. 

“Thanks… for trusting me enough to take off your mask…” As their glowing white eyes curiously glanced him over, the corners of his lips twitched slightly, and he gave them a tiny smile. They smiled back, widely. “You’re very… pretty.” they murmured shyly, and his lips turned into a frown, dark blush coming onto his cheeks. “Really, I mean it!” 

His blush darkened, and they were simply overwhelmed by how cute he was, and they felt their heart beat harder when he moved in closer, their noses almost touching. “No, you’re the one who is pretty.” he purrs, and they blush sheepishly. “Every time you’ve taken off your mask, I cannot stop looking.”

They change positions, turning to face him entirely with their body, being careful of their hurt leg as they shift. “I’m sure I won’t stop looking, either, too… I’m glad to see your face!” 

They wrapped their arms around his neck, their fingers touching at his soft hair. One arm went around their side, pinned underneath their body as the two laid there, quietly for a moment. His free hand found their face, cupping their cheek, and his fingers slid over the markings that were there. It was a moment before he came in really close, and then their lips touched, a soft kiss.

His arm around them tightened, and Ypsilon closed their eyes tight, trying to savor this moment as best as they could. He was warm, so warm, and their head was spinning. They tried to kiss him back as earnestly as they could, hoping that their enthusiasm would make up for their lack of experience. He felt shy, slow and thoughtful, and they relaxed against him, and the two pulled away from each other. Now… they were both blushing messes in each other's arms, and Ypsilon blinked, giving him another sweet smile.  

Welp, now they could at least count the people they’ve kissed on one hand. Originally, if they were to count, their hands would remain like balled up fists. The closest they’d come to kissing someone was most likely after a fight with a giant when they’d triumphantly kissed Aela’s cheeks with sheer excitement and she’d cooed over them for it for a while afterwards. Now that they thought about that, they did that a lot. Sudden shows of affection after battle. Now, they had a lip kiss to keep track of, and not just… any lip kiss, but from someone who they loved so very much, and that someone just loved them back just as much. They were so happy and so so giddy. They loved him! He was too good! 

His face was still very close to theirs, but then he pulled away slightly, looking around the room. However, his grip on them was still nice and tight, comforting and warm. They returned to happily running their hands through his hair, and they loved hearing his voice without the metallic reverb. They loved the metallic reverb, too of course. 

“Should we get up…?” he questioned them, looking back to them.

“Mmm…” they murmured, their voice soft. “No, we can stay like this for a bit, if that’s okay with you, yeah?” 

He nodded. “That’s fine…” he returned his face to being very close to theirs, and they bumped their forehead against his, happy for the touch and comfort he was providing. 

The closed their eyes lightly, tugging at a pillow to rest it beneath both their heads. “I’m… so tired, I could stay like this forever…” they murmured. “But, we should get up in a bit… I have hunting duty today…” 

He closed his eyes, too, and laid his head against the pillow. “Hunting duty? It’s a shame, I’d be content to stay like this for the rest of the day.”

“Me too…” they mused. “And I have to hunt because I’m a Companion of Jorrvaskr. We tend to manage the food supplies after big feasts and festivals, usually the feast is provided by us… So I gotta get out stores back up. You can come with me, if you’d like?” 

“Ah… will do…” he said, sleepily, before he pressed his lips to theirs once more in a lazy kiss. 

They were content, and they held him tightly to themselves. Life was good, things were getting better. They didn’t feel alone.


	19. Ah… Daedra Jokes. What Fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another pretty short chapter, setting the stage for more plot :3c Also there's a couple Princes lurking around, not just Mora at this point. 
> 
> Mentions of Lydia/Aela because? Strong GFs. Tbh it started off with me thinking they fought well together because I used to both have them in my party ingame. Range and melee work out pretty well, so so does their relationship. Plus I like Aela being a weirdly impulsive and chaos-starting, but motherly type. Kinda big sister-y.

Hunting was far from easy and was tiring. It felt like every bit of sweat clung to Miraak’s skin, and despite the fact that it was extraordinarily cold, he was still exhausted and felt like his insides were burning. It was most likely the warm mage robes and Atmoran blood, and he clambered up a hill somewhat ungracefully to keep up with his excited partner. The two were just south of Whiterun, past all the farms and commotion and into the woods. The coniferous trees loomed above them, blotting out bits of the slightly cloudy sky, and cold winds blew through, causing Miraak to shiver slightly. His feet crunched on the snowy forest floor. Further back, closer to Whiterun was all their previous kills, a couple rabbits, a goat, all watched over by the Companions member Farkas. Miraak wasn’t too fond of him because of his loudness from the previous night.

Miraak watched as Ypsilon dropped into a crouch and stalked close to the ground, bow and arrow readied. He squinted at them, watching their trained and careful movements. He felt a bit of admiration swell up, but it was quickly dismissed. They acted like a Bosmer, he thought to himself, they were an impressive hunter, it was as if it coursed through their veins, energizing them. Despite their wounds they’d sustained, their limp was barely noticeable in their movements. So far, the hunt had been bountiful, despite the frigid winter- perhaps because spring was on it’s way, and Ypsilon kept insisting that they didn’t need help, that it was their job anyways. He had decided to tag along simply because he was curious of their abilities as well as wanting to be away from the city. It was a win-win, he got to be in the fresh air and they got companionship.  

The arrow flew forth, catching a deer in the neck, and the beast went to run away, before one more arrow flew into its throat. Miraak frowned, that… was exactly what they’d almost done to him during their fight. Hm. At least he was no deer, certainly not prey. The deer keeled over and Ypsilon broke from their crouch to a sprint to go collect the beast and Miraak followed after them, wondering if and how they were going to pick that up. At the sound of his footsteps cracking in the leaves, the Dragonborn whirled around, as if started. 

“Oh, whew… I forgot you were here, Miraak…” they breathed, and they rested their hands on their knees, taking deep breaths. “Enjoying the show?” 

Miraak tried to find his words, but failed utterly as he felt heat rising in him again. He made a sheepish noise, intending to say something snarky to them, but he gave up and let out an embarrassed sigh. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry Miraak…” they murmured, their hand going to the mouth part of their mask. They were probably grinning from behind it. 

“That’s fine.” he growled, but then his voice calmed and he added. “However, your poise is...stunning… How are you going to get that back? Your poise may be built for hunting and the like, but I doubt it includes carrying such a heavy kill.” 

“Aw, thank you!” they responded, and he could hear the smile in their voice. “Honestly, I hadn’t considered it, maybe I’ll call for Farkas, hang on!” 

Ypsilon went to go get the Companion and Miraak was left to his own devices for a moment, before realizing something… something was moving in the brush nearby. He was barely alarmed of course, he didn’t worry too much as he could protect himself with ease. However, he was more disgusted with the smell of rot approaching and he watched as a mangy skeever darted by, and he scowled. _Foul, disgusting_ , he knew they smelled gross, but certainly not that bad. He contemplated killing it, worrying it’d bite someone later and cause infection, however when it vanished into the underbrush and in a direction where there was a lot of dirt, he decided against it. Hopefully the thick snow would mask the scent or freeze the thing to death. 

Ugh, it sure was something to make him lose his appetite. Thankfully it got nowhere near the deer carcass, but the fact that such a foul critter was so close by unnerved him. He let out a sigh and let the cool air blow through him, cooling him off greatly. He didn’t feel unfit, he would like to say he was extraordinarily fit, but sadly, this wasn’t the case. Blame it on his imprisonment in Apocrypha. He felt physically weaker and succumbed to exhaustion and sleep often, and he didn’t want to sleep. There was too much to do and see and learn that he didn’t want to sleep, yet his body always screamed at him to do so. He was more than happy to continuously disobey. Fortunately, everytime Ypsilon had gone to bed and curled up against him, it provided him incentive to actually fall asleep, for their presence was calming and pleasant. 

Farkas and Ypsilon came back into view, the two talking to each other, Farkas talking with his hands extremely animatedly. Miraak easily listened in from his spot. “I think this’ll be all we need, can’t overhunt these parts either. One deer, two rabbits, and a goat was a pretty good haul, too, shield-sibling, good job! We can head back now, Tilma won’t wring our necks for not even trying to bring home food.”

“Thank you!” Ypsilon said, and they bounced on their heels a bit. “And yeah, that’s true. I hope everyone will be alright with this, not very much.” 

“It should last for a couple days, at least.” Farkas responded. “Y’know what, we should have _another_ feast.” 

“That’s a terrible idea, Farkas.” Ypsilon responded, shaking their head slightly at him, however their tone was still filled with happiness, not true disapproval. 

“Figured as much.” Farkas replied, shrugging. “Party all night, all day long.” 

“And you pick _Hircine_ to be the Prince you relate to more? Not another specific party-prince?” 

Miraak scowled to himself. Lovely. Daedric Princes being around pissed him off, and he was tired of it. Terrible joke, really, especially if Farkas was a Hircine worshipper, however, the wording of it was strange and he shook himself out of it. In all honesty, his mind stayed mainly on the fact that he could go home soon. He wanted to lie down and be in the dark and cool off. No more sweaty hunting for him, he was far too tired.

 

…

 

Ypsilon was sitting around the firepit within the Companions’ Hall Jorrvaskr with all the other Companions and Lydia, who were all happily talking and chattering away with each other, eating food and drinking. Miraak had opted to stay home, which Ypsilon was fine with, and they hoped he was doing alright. Probably happily sifting through their library to find something to read. They found it adorable how he made a beeline for it, they’d imagine he’d grow tired of books after being in Book Hell for so long. However, they were happily surprised. They read a lot, but they felt bad for having such a library just for them. They didn’t have too many books, but it was enough to call it a collection, and they were more than happy to share it. He was being good to them, and they trusted him off the bat again quite honestly. Despite him leaving and the previous theatrics, they were barely inconvenienced by it, and they were starting to get butterflies every time they thought about him. They felt funny, flustered, and lost in daydreams constantly, and they were incredibly embarrassed. Without fresh air and the thrill of the hunt clearing their mind, their brain had became a puddle of goop, with little thought. 

Aela, who had a hound-dog nose for distracted thoughts and weird emotions, despite being in the dim candlelight, homed in on Ypsilon who was quietly stirring at their tea. Her green eyes glistened with amusement, and she spoke to them, and they looked up from their cup, somewhat surprised. 

“So, glad to hear your little Dragon Priest fiasco went well.” she said, a smile on her face. “I hear he’s taken up residence in your home, yeah?” 

Ypsilon looked at her quietly for a moment, glad that all the others were still talking amongst each other, and the roar of the fire, along with the chatter volume was enough to provide solace from everyone else’s ears. However, Ypsilon was sure every werewolf in the building was listening, their hearing was most likely strong regardless of the form they were in. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah it did go really well.” they said half-heartedly, along with being extremely embarrassed. “He’s pleasant to be around.” 

“Good to hear it.” she responded, and she took a thoughtful sip from her tankard, and Ypsilon relaxed, but then her gaze returned to them as she wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. “So, what of it? Do you like him?”

“What! Where’d you get that from?” Ypsilon asked, brain suddenly reforming from the tired goop it was. 

“You’ve been in Dreamland all day, icebrain, I can see the little heart-eyes you keep shooting at him, even through your mask.” she said, goodnaturedly, a smile on her face. “Nothing wrong with it, at all, really.”

“I, well. I mean, hm…” Ypsilon’s face flushed darkly, and they were happy with their mask, their hand pressing it closer along their face. “Maybe… maybe just a little, but nothing’s confirmed yet, or something of that sort, at least!” 

“Of course, of course, you have to leave room for courting, flirting, whatever you wanna call it.” Aela continued, and Ypsilon felt heat rise up through them, they felt like they were glowing because of how embarrassed they were. Honestly, their markings probably were glowing because of it. “Just be sure to bring him here sometime, love to get a crack at him.” 

“Aela!” Ypsilon gasped, and Aela gave them a knowing expression, and they instantly relaxed. Damn you Aela and the fact that you’re comforting and trustable! “Well… maybe a bit of courting, or whatever it is wouldn’t be too bad…But! You didn’t hear that from me!” They shook their head, taking a tiny sip of tea. “Do you mean fight him or…?” Ypsilon knew she was protective of them, after all, they were in a high tier of the Companions, it made sense she wanted to test the mettle of anyone who got close to Ypsilon. 

“Just a simple spar.” Aela answered. “Anyone you go with should have an incredible sword arm, or some other combat skill, is all I’ll say. My rule of thumb is if they can beat me in a fight, they’re worth my trust, and if they can’t and fight bravely, they still get that trust. Sadly, not with all the extra admiration, though.” She smiled, and Ypsilon nodded her eyes quickly flicking over to Lydia who was talking to Skjor and Ria. “You deserve someone who can be on par with you on battle, may it be a bit stronger or a bit weaker or a bit different in fighting category. I’d say you’d have trouble with that- being Dragonborn and all.”

Ypsilon was certain that Lydia had beaten Aela in a fight then…That was sweet. Ypsilon shook their head, and laughed a little. “Yeah, I’m sure he has a good sword arm, probably a good magic arm too! He’s impressive… I told you about how he’s also Dragonborn, yeah?” 

Aela nodded. “Perfectly on par, then.” 

“Yeah!” Ypsilon said, their voice light and happy. “He’s a strong fighter! And an impressive one, too! You should see it, he does such nice spell-casting and ohhh…. His form is so nice…” they felt their brain begin to mush up again as they happily replayed how he fought, the Voice and Shouts he used during the fight with Alduin. Wow. Stunning. They wanted to cry, sort of. “I’ll be sure to invite him and bring him around sometime, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to show off.” 

“As long as he doesn’t shout and play the game fairly, I don’t see why we wouldn’t just let him join us at this point.” Aela said, and nodded at Ypsilon.

“I’ll tell him to lay off it, and also magic too, right?”

“Aye, sounds good, it wouldn’t be a fair spar at that point.”  

“Not at all!” Ypsilon agreed, and they sipped more of their tea. Wow, it was making them feel really tired and woozy.  

Aela must’ve noticed that their posture began to droop, and she patted their back lightly. “You never cease to amaze us, whelp, keep it up.” she murmured, and Ypsilon felt grateful for her praise. “You should get going home, more chores tomorrow…? If you’re staying in Whiterun for longer.” 

Ypsilon shrugged sleepily. “Thanks Aela, really, it’s sweet of you.” they murmured. They hadn’t thought of any plans yet, but they did want to wander a bit. However, if they were needed, they’d stay. “I’m not sure yet, honestly, but I’ll tell you tomorrow! I’ll be up early, or sleeping in, honestly, that could judge whether or not I’m staying or not….” 

Aela grinned and clapped their back, and Ypsilon stretched a bit, trying to get more comfortable. “Of course, of course!” Aela got to her feet, and Ypsilon’s gaze followed her as she went over to Lydia, excusing her from the conversation. 

Aela kneeled next to Lydia’s chair for a moment, and Lydia laughed a bit, disengaging from conversation, and turning to face her, a look of good humor on her face. However, Lydia’s face flushed quickly and looked more surprised when Aela took her bare hand to her lips and gave the back of her hand a kiss. Lydia looked flabbergasted, and Aela got to her feet, as did Lydia, who tucked her dark brown hair back a bit. Aela whispered something to her and Lydia nodded, and Ypsilon caught their name. Probably telling her it was time to go home, they thought.  

The two came over, and Ypsilon slowly got to their feet, and Lydia watched them carefully. It wasn’t long before Ypsilon and Lydia were about to leave, and Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, Skjor, and all the others gave waves or words of farewell as they left. The groups quickly returned to their cacophony, and Ypsilon was grateful to slip away. Aela came to the door, to hold it open for the both of them, but Lydia caught her off guard by pressing a kiss to her cheek. Aela lit up like New Life Festival Tree. She blushed red, which was hard to see from the low light, but it contrasted with her dark green face paint in a way that was totally endearing. As they exited and headed home, the two sharing hushed goodbyes, Ypsilon sleepily smiled to themselves. That was sweet, really. They hoped that they could have something like that, sometime. It seemed nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is the 2nd to last chapter. I'm just editing the last chapter up a bit, and then that's that :o


	20. Ready For A Journey?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a bit of early morning fluff, the beginning of travelling elsewhere, some bits of my take on Miraak's backstory! And that's a wrap, folks! Probably will definitely do more for this pairing sometime, as I have a few ideas, but I'm also not sure on which ones to do! Probably make a few lil oneshots or something. Anyways, I really hope everyone liked my portrayal of Miraak and also my big dumb LDB. And also their relationship. *300 crying emojis*
> 
> Oh yeah, and any Dovahzul translation notes at the bottom!
> 
> This chapter is in 3 parts, seperated by 3 periods each. I listened to different music on loop for the last two bits, so for the last two parts I'd recommend listening to the song that I was listening to, because it may convey a bit of the feeling of the chapter. [2nd Part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbE70JRm8aI) / [3rd Part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCbMpefISsw)!
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I hope everyone enjoyed it ^^

Miraak awoke to the sound of the wind against the wood of the house, somewhat startled by the odd noise. He jolted, his body stiffened as he felt something move against his neck, but he instantly relaxed as his bed-partner let out a soft sigh. He blinked, and his hand went to his face, ensuring his mask was still in place. His fingers struck the gold metal, and he completely relaxed, sinking back against the comfortable furs that made up the bed covers. He felt a slight tug on his robes, and he looked towards the source as Ypsilon wrapped their arms around him, their grip getting ever so slightly tighter. 

He observed their face for a moment, taking note of their closed eyes and languid expression, and realized that they had to be completely asleep still. Thinking to himself for a moment, he opted to take off his own mask, he’d put it back on before they woke up. He placed it on the nightstand and ran a hand through his hair, before looking down at them again. They were against his chest, slightly weighing down on him, but not too much, and their head rested against his shoulder. They looked comfortable and they felt nice against him. Wrapping his arms around them carefully, he felt the overwhelming urge to bury his face into their hair. He absentmindedly pet at their hair, playing with the soft strands in between his fingers. Without much thought, he pressed his face into their hair, and was thoroughly pleased.  

He’d marveled at how soft they were on their first night he’d spent in their bed, and he felt even more pleased with the fact that their hair was soft and smelled nice. His fingers lightly traced the markings on their face, hoping that he wouldn’t awaken them with his touch. He could appreciate how they fit perfectly against him, and he kept finding himself spiraling further and further into these intense feelings of… love…? It was some form of love, maybe infatuation…? However, he’d been infatuated before, but it was certainly not like this. This was far too warm and far too powerful that he wanted to shy away from it. There were aspects he enjoyed, along with aspects he wholly disliked. He wasn’t used to this, he didn’t trust like this, and thus he was uncomfortable. However, both aspects were somehow balanced, and he found himself gladly trying to get closer to them with every passing moment. He shrouded his true intentions as best as he could, he didn’t want to drive them away. After the previous night, he was admittedly embarrassed, but…

By the Divines, what was happening to him? He was losing his touch. Did it matter if he lost it at this point? He began to ponder this before shaking it from his mind. No, no. There was so much to be done, much to start doing, too much to see and learn. He hadn’t walked Skyrim in many millenia, let alone Nirn in general, and he wasn’t about to lose focus upon his urge for knowledge and exploration because of the feelings that made his heart hammer in his chest. However, if he were to accompany them on their travels, or they were to join his, he’d be more than happy. If his feelings persisted, he’d be even more pleased. Not to mention, he feared for their safety if they were alone, Mora had been quiet, and he didn’t like that. 

He was taken out of his increasingly worrying thoughts by Ypsilon sniffling slightly, and taking in deeper breaths, as if about to wake up or something, and he was quick to replace his mask, clipping it back into place. He felt them stretch against him, and slowly but surely, their eyes opened. They observed him for a moment, before a tired smile stretched across their face.

“Good morning, Miraak.” they slurred, blinking slowly, a hand around him returning to their face to wipe at their teary eyes. “I hope you slept good?”

“Good morning…” he murmured in response, voice low. “I slept fine.”

Did he sleep fine? He couldn’t remember. He felt funny and… his train of thought was cut off again by their overall soothing presence and despite the barrier between the two of them via his mask, they pressed a hand to it as if stroking his cheek, this warm smile on their face the whole time. Were they overtired? Sick? Why were they looking at him like that? He felt bewilderment, watching them as they left his side, and shifted to get out of bed. 

“That’s good! I’m glad!” they purred, and they scooted to the side of the bed, standing up and stretching their back comfortably. “You’ll need your rest for what we’ll be doing today!” 

“...And that would be…?”

“Oh! I forgot to mention I guess…?” they said, and they continued their stretches.

Miraak got up, shifting out from underneath the covers, and he too stretched a bit, only very slightly, though. “Yes, you need to become less… neglectful with your details and plans that involve me.” 

They let out a small sigh. “You’re right. Sorry, I should’ve mentioned earlier.” they murmured, and he watched them curiously as they sifted through their clothing drawers, searching for a pair of robes or something. “I was thinking about travelling to one of my other homes, it’s in the mountains of the Reach… a bit tucked away, but I have a lot of things there, and I was thinking its a safer base of operations y’know…? I was thinking of Mora and stuff last night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if we got attacked in the middle of the city, or in the middle of the night. I don’t know what damage the Seekers do, but I was afraid something could get lit on fire or… or terribly destroyed or…” They let out another deep sigh. “I suppose I was thinking that my other home would be easier to protect, and that we could figure out what to do. Mora’s been quiet, and I’ve been… nervous to say the least, honestly.”

“Understandable. We can create a plan and work from there. As much as I’d like to believe that Hermaeus Mora has given up, knowing how petty and unforgiving Daedra are it's unlikely the case. We can protect the area easier as well.”  _ And I can protect us while utilizing my full power.  _ He wanted to add that to his words, but of course did not. He was sure they could protect themselves, but he couldn’t bear the thought of them getting injured when he was not there.

“Mmhm! Sounds like a plan! A plan for a plan!” they said cheerily, and they had successfully found robes, draping them over one arm. “Thanks for coming back with me, I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.”

“You needn’t promise a thing.” he said, his voice turning colder, more monotone. He wished he could expound on his feelings towards them. They probably believed he was tagging along out of guilt or some kind of expectations on him. “When did you plan on leaving?”

Ypsilon gave him a quick look, before placing their mask on their face. “Well....” they moved towards the window, looking out. “Maybe within the hour, it’s not too early, not too late.”

Miraak’s eyes drifted towards the window, and he noticed that the sun was just coming up, however dark clouds were swirling around, being pushed along by heavy winds. The same heavy winds whacked into the house, and everything creaked every so often as the house moved and shifted. He gave them a nod, putting on his mask, armored bracers and his boots before heading towards the door. He’d give them a moment to change, he’d see them downstairs. 

As he went downstairs, he noticed that there was food wrapped up on the wooden table, mostly salted things. He wondered if Lydia was coming, too, but it didn’t seem like it. He noted that her weapon was gone from the rack on the door, so she must’ve already left off to do something. Miraak decided to give his partner a moment, so he grabbed one of the books resting next to the large, cushioned chair and sat down, flipping through the pages. Ah,  _ Invocation of Azura _ . He’s read this one a couple times. He wasn’t prepared to see numerous bookmarks inside labelling various sentences in an odd order. He thought hard upon this for a moment, before shrugging it off. Azura was a religious figure for some, perhaps this was the case with Ypsilon. Although… admittedly he doubted it, Falmer worshipped primarily Divines if he could remember correctly… Perhaps just studies.

 

…

 

The two of them had left the large, wooden gates of Whiterun before the sun had ascended over the horizon, and while they set the pace to slow, Miraak really wanted to move. It felt freeing in a way to be outside the city, and he was relieved the moment the chilly air blew past him. However, something was certainly different, for the chill also carried that of warmth and the scent of fresh flowers. As the two rounded the corner exiting towards the farms of Whiterun, Ypsilon let out a huff and pulled their pack tighter to their back, and Miraak watched as they lugged it around. It looked heavy, but they seemed fine, relaxed even.

He was about to offer help when they cut him off by pointing out towards the plains to the west, an excited tone in their voice. “Miraak, look!” they called. 

Glancing in the direction they’d pointed, Miraak was certainly surprised by the sight. For a moment he had no words. The plains were alight with many colors, faces of yellow, pink, and white flowers pointing up towards the gradually rising sun. It was a very sudden change from what he could remember, and he drew in a deep breath. It was as if over the week the world had come to life. There was still a bit of a nip in the air, but nothing as harsh as it had been earlier. The grass was greener, a few birds were chirping, and dew clung to every bit of green giving certain areas of thin grass a shimmery effect.

He hadn’t remembered this. From behind his mask, he bit his lip, somewhat uncertain on how to feel. He felt like this was familiar, but also unfamiliar, and somehow that hurt a bit. Ypsilon voice cut into his thoughts, despite not being able to see their face, he could tell by their tone that they were probably smiling. 

“It’s so pretty…I didn’t expect it to be so soon!” they said, letting out a happy sigh. “We should take a walk through the plains instead of taking a wagon… this is too nice!” 

Miraak nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t mind.” he replies.  _ It’ll give me a chance to exist in my own thoughts _ . 

“Even if it’s a lot of travel on foot?” they query him, as if ensuring he was certain.

“It gives us more time to talk privately.” He responds, and Ypsilon nods, agreeing.

“Yeah! It’d be a little weird if we talked about some deep, scary things and the wagon driver was just listening.” Ypsilon laughs. 

Letting out a ‘pfft’ noise, Miraak agrees. “I’d be mortified if I were him.”

“I mean, I would too. Imagine you’re just a normal civilian tending to your horse and some weirdos hop on and begin talking about Daedric influence.” they wiggle their fingers for spooky effect.

Miraak shakes his head, stifling a chuckle before taking the lead and heading towards the plains. Ypsilon is quick to fall in step, their presence makes him satisfied, he couldn’t ask for a better travel partner- but of course they’d never hear that from him. His boots sink slightly into the wet earth as the two pass the farms heading due west, and enter the flower field. He let in a light inhale, the scent was somewhat strong, but not at all terrible. It was fresh, spring was here. 

Ypsilon took the lead, stretching out their arms, walking with pep in their step as they happily enjoyed the walk. But they paused for a moment before pointing excitedly towards a ridge towards the north, which overlooked the area ever so slightly. It was small, but most likely because it was distant, and the many wildflowers danced underneath it’s slowly shortening shadow as the sun began to rise above the horizon.

“We should go there! By running, fast!” They exclaimed, and Miraak felt energy rise up in him, the both of their dragon souls heating up at the possibility of activity. The only thing that could get him more raring to go was a challenge, and yep- he certainly was going to give them one.

“I challenge you to a race then,  _ Dovahkiin _ .” he said, his voice practically oozing with cockiness. 

Ypsilon’s energy seemed to instantly increase, their posture changing to be more perky, and they crossed their arms, however their voice was still extraordinarily cheery. “You’re on! I’ll take your challenge. Under one condition. No Whirlwind Sprint allowed.” they said, and Miraak let out a scoff.

“Mmm. Very well then.” he said, and Ypsilon’s posture became more crouched, as if like an animal about to strike.

“Ready?” Ypsilon said, their voice excited.

“Set.” Miraak added, watching their every moment as he too prepared himself to make a mad dash for the overhang.

“GO!” Ypsilon shouted, and their energy was released like that of an arrow being released from the bow. 

Miraak took off running as fast as his legs could take him, his strides strong, his heart pounding and proudly he had already lost sight of Ypsilon behind him. However in the moment he felt a surge of relief he found himself with them coming up on his left, their strides long and lithe. They looked rather off balance, frankly, but they were still going strong.

Lucky. They were in somewhat better shape than him, he still wasn’t as athletic as he could be due to his time in Apocrypha. He thought to himself as the his heart hammered in his ears, the sound of his own breath audible from behind his mask. The flowers had become a blur, and the overhang was beginning to get closer and closer. 

Ypsilon however, seemed to have other plans. Plans for accidents, and they took a tumble, grass and dirt poofing up into the air. Of course, Miraak used this to his advantage, taking the lead, but he slowed down his pace a bit, looking over his shoulder at them as he sustained a jog. Instead of remaining fallen Ypsilon had rolled back to their feet, and they’d quickly cleared the gap he’d put in between them. 

By the Eight, they were fast. They didn’t look too bad, no wear or tear, however, a few grasses had wedged their way into the opening where their mask pressed to their face. He sped up, unwilling to lose, the overhang directly in both of their paths now, and Ypsilon launched ahead, still moving at quick speed, reaching the base of the overhang with ease. Miraak had no time or breath to show his indignance, however, he kept up his pace. Surprisingly, instead of going around the overhang, the crafty Falmer had easily launched themself up the underside of the rocky overhang, easily finding footholds and handholds as they climbed. The way they moved and the strength they had to keep moving so quick as well as acrobatically caught him off guard, however a plan to still beat them hatched in his mind. 

 

…

 

Ypsilon let out a low huff,  jeez this was a bit much. They’d absolutely done this to be extremely extra and also maybe to impress him, but they’d be lying if they weren’t having the time of their lives. Their heart pounded and their breath was quick paced as they scrambled for another handhold to drag themself up the angled underside of the overhang. 

Suddenly, a familiar shout hit their ears. “ _ MUL QAH DIIV! _ ”

They weren’t about to whirl around to see what that little fiend was up to, definitely cheating! But the moment that the sound of wings and rush of magicka could be felt from directly behind them forced them to turn around and look. Miraak had decided he was going to fly from the finish and it felt like time was going in slow motion as he zoomed behind them, just in arms reach if they weren’t clinging to the stony underside. Even though they couldn’t see his face from behind his mask, they felt his smugness come off in absolute waves, and they suppressed a competitive snarl in his direction as they continued to scale the side.

However, instead of cruelly leaving them behind, his arms quickly wrapped around them from behind, tugging them from the rocky cliff and into his grasp, where they held on tight to his arms, as he flew to the top. Instantly, Ypsilon’s feelings on him changed as he landed, his feet hitting the rocky overhang first, and Ypsilon mockingly scoffed at him. He put them down, and they whirled around to face him, their arms crossing around their chest loosely.

“Cheating!!” they said, jokingly accusing and laughter in their voice, as Miraak simply shrugged at them. “That was absolutely not allowed!”

“You only said ‘no Whirlwind Sprint’.” he said, matter-of-factly, his tone filled with humor.

Ypsilon shook their head, cracking a smile from behind their mask. “Damn! I should’ve said no shouts.” they huffed, before Miraak moved to them, knocking the metal mouth tusk-ish area of his mask against the mouth of their own, certainly a weird gesture of affection but definitely not an unwanted one.

“You need to be clearer with your words.” He responded, moving towards the edge of the overhang, and looking at the area from above. 

Ypsilon joined him, and they sat at the edge, legs hanging off the side, and he mimicked their movement, sitting next to them. They let out a happy sigh, and leaned their head on his shoulder. Miraak allowed them to lean, his hand somewhat hesitant, but soon he had moved his arms around their shoulder, holding them close.

The area was now even more beautiful, and luckily their race hadn’t damaged anything whatsoever. The area where Ypsilon had fallen was merely a little indent where some grass was missing, but everything else was well. Flowers as far as the eye could see, the distant rise of snowy mountains, the roofs of the Whiterun buildings, all of it could be seen from a singular point. The sun began peeking through the clouds, and Miraak felt the warmth of it through his robes, and was grateful for it. There was no such sensation in Apocrypha, nor in the winter. Things were nice. Things were good. He was feeling much too pleased with life to worry about the possibility of this being taken from him.

Ypsilon was the first to talk, their voice low, slow, and calm. “Miraak, you should tell me more about yourself.” they murmured, head still on his shoulder.

His arm left them, and he rested it behind him, allowing him to lean back a bit. “Hmm…? Why?” he asked, wanting to know their intentions.

“Not sure, I just felt bad that you knew about my past and I don’t know much on yours. Other than the Dragon Priest stuff… but even then, it’s not very much.” they offered, looking at them, their eyes peering from behind their mask.

Jokingly, Miraak laughed a bit. “It’s not my fault you told me all of your backstory in one sitting when we first met.” he jested, and Ypsilon made a low noise of laughter.

“Hey!” they said, before nodding. “I suppose I couldn’t help but share. Nor is it all of it at least. But I just want to know more about you, y’know?”

Miraak watched from the corner of his vision as they peered at him. “I’d like to keep my mind in the present and future rather than in the past. But if you insist.”

Ypsilon nodded. “Yeah, as long as you want to share. Then I’d like to hear.” they responded, looking to him, their demeanor nothing but kindly. 

Miraak nodded, pondering on where to start. Likely at the very beginning. He paused for a moment. “I was born to two very…barbaric Atmorans. For lack of a better term. Think of the two most axe-wielding… and loud people. Possible.” the irritation in his voice was already imminent. “I harbor little love for them. They were hardly present, and when they were it was unpleasant.”

A frown fell onto Ypsilon’s face from behind their mask, but they listened intently as he continued. He seemed unfocused, looking off into the distance. “Unluckily for me, I ended up being scrawnier than the rest. Be it because I was a picky eater or I would opt to read books in my lonesome rather than train physically.” he continued. “So I tended to get the short end of the stick, whether it was at the hand of my own parents or other children in the community.”

Ypsilon’s voice was low and they tried to be soothing. “I’m sorry to hear it, Mir.” they murmured. 

“I don’t seek your pity, _hesi._ ” He responds, slowly. They give him a light nod. “However, in the time where I came of age and left my community, beginning to wander around Skyrim, I found that with age I was simply… not in the right place. I picked up more skills, learned other languages, studied, became stronger.”  

Ypsilon looked at him, leaning back into his shoulder calmly. He kept talking. “After a long time on my own, I’d gotten stronger, I wasn’t some scrawny kid anymore. I was gifted in many arts, and I became well-versed, I talked to many people, I was well-known. And that’s when the Dragon Cult set their eyes upon me, and I was nothing more than proud to join their ranks.”

He shook his head. “I was cocky, I was one of their youngest members, a prodigy. I was only getting stronger continuously. I was away from any family I had. I was allowed to be spiteful of everything I’d been through- hardly knowing that I’d continue to be spiteful when I betrayed them... My coming of age was when I was in the Dragon Cult. I ended up transitioning. Ended up learning more things about myself and the world around me and how it worked. And…” he trailed off, his voice becoming a low sigh.

Ypsilon spoke up, their voice as soothing as possible, and they wondered if he’d ever shared any of these feelings with anyone else before. They couldn’t imagine any of the Dragon Priests would be very welcoming to a younger person’s feelings on anything for that matter. “You don’t have to keep going if you want to.” they told him, pressing their hand ontop of his.

He shook his head. “I’ll finish this thought before I never mention it again.” he says adamantly, before leaning against them. “My own learning brought me to the point you know me at. A traitor to the Dragon Cult and a pawn of a dastardly, foul prince.” he growled, finishing up his story.

Ypsilon rubbed at his knuckles gently. “Well. You’ve seen a lot, dealt with a lot. It’s not unexpected. But like you said earlier, you’re focusing on the present. You’re focusing on the future!”  

The tones of voice Ypsilon was speaking to him with he felt to his very core, and it confused him, his chest was tight with what felt like sadness, however, their words soothed that pain. He was beginning to regret opening up like this, too bad his emotions were all stirred up and contradicting each other.

“Hell, we’ve both been through a lot.” Ypsilon continued. “And there will always be more hardships which is unfortunate…” they begin to trail off and Miraak paused, removing his hand from underneath theirs, and taking it into his palm, grasping it tight. “But… I mean. With the end of winter comes new life, and with that life, new chances… It’s spring! There’s a lot of the world you haven’t seen in a while, a lot of new things to be seeing after you’ve just come out of the hell you’ve been stuck in for so long. So together we can make the best of it.” Their tone is soft and gentle, and Miraak imagines the small smile that is probably on their face. 

Choked up, but mostly unwilling to show it, Miraak feels the distress in his body evaporate and leave him. And he leans into the Falmer, somewhat pushing them to the side from his weight, but they more than happily wrap their arms around him, face burying into his chest.  

The sun was just now fully visible, the light rays falling upon them and lighting up the field with the most brilliant brightness. The spring flowers were practically glowing, the area ablaze with color, and when Ypsilon got to their feet and offered him their hand, their shape illuminated by the blaze of the sun, Miraak felt a bit more relief flow through him. Things would be ok. 

They helped him to his feet, and held on to his arm, and he sheepishly rubbed his other. Ypsilon’s voice was excited though as they let him go, moving towards the West, going down the slope that lead up to the overhang. 

“Well! Let’s get going! We have a home to get to, a home to make!” they said, cheerily, before talking under their breath. “ _And beds to make. And rooms to clean. Gods, when was I there last…?_ ” they seem to ponder things for a moment.  

Miraak laughs to himself a bit, before Ypsilon looks at him again, while taking the lead and making a comment. “You should help me get all the cobwebs! You better be ready to put your hands in some spider webs.” they laugh, hands falling to their hips as they go.

“Will do.” he comments, before he pauses for a moment, stopping entirely.  

They take a moment to realize he stopped, and look at him curiously, walking backwards down the slope at a slow pace. They seem like they were about to say something, but he was quick to quell whatever questions they were about to ask. “Thank you, Ypsilon.” he murmurs, hoping his voice was as genuine as he meant it to be.

They perk up instantly. “No, thank you! You’ve been accompanying me, and it’s great.” they seem joyous, and they offer their hand to him again, wanting to hold hands. 

He felt a bit hesitant, however he reached for it, and held it tight. 

“My pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> "hesi" = My sweet (I'm pretty sure)
> 
> Also if it wasn't clear, the statement Miraak says about transitioning is referring to him being trans. Trans Miraak is a really, really important headcanon to me, just mentioning.
> 
> Again, I hope everyone enjoyed ;v; If people want it, I may definitely continue with this ship and write more fics :o ! Please feel free to leave some comments or anything! This is the first fic I've finished and/or written in a while so!
> 
> Check out my tumblr (on my profile on AO3) for more things and information/updates!


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